


The Rising of the Stones

by Lomonaaeren



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Aurors, Draco and Harry Are Not Soulmates, Drama, Earth Magic, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Weird Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-26
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-05-16 08:13:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 35
Words: 105,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5820922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lomonaaeren/pseuds/Lomonaaeren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco Malfoy has become the Ministry’s best Auror. He executes all kinds of unusual assignments, including one to go after the unexpectedly fugitive Harry Potter. But as he chases Potter down, Draco learns a lot more about what the Ministry has been hiding from the wizarding world than he ever wanted to know—secrets that may impact more than just his ability to arrest Potter. Updated every Monday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Unusual Assignment

**Author's Note:**

> This will probably be between twenty and twenty-five chapters. It does involve soul-marks, the idea that soulmates can identify each other by corresponding marks on their skin. However, this doesn’t necessarily promise perfect happiness between the soulmates in question.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t show you that.”  
  
“You can’t.”  
  
The archivist in front of Draco wrung his hands and stared at the ceiling for a moment. Then he looked back at Draco and said, in a firm voice that the trembling of his lip belied, “No.”  
  
“Reconsider your refusal,” Draco told him, and leaned back against the basalt wall behind him. The Ministry archives were on the level above the Department of Mysteries, but they shared the same gloomy décor. Draco had long since decided that was to keep anyone from actually taking documents out of there. “I’ll wait.”  
  
The archivist stared at Draco and swallowed. Then he turned around and knelt before the small fireplace behind his curved desk. Draco smiled and looked around lazily.  
  
Other Aurors passed him, seeking birth records and the like on their latest victims or criminals, nodding at Draco even as most avoided his eyes. And there were Unspeakables, clad in grey and riddles, always with spells that obscured whether they were carrying a book or a scroll, a folder or a ledger. Ordinary citizens cringed their way into the further corners or huddled at the tables under the clusters of enchanted lights. Shelves loomed into the distance like gigantic trees.  
  
Draco was just craning his neck to see if he could catch a glimpse of the shelves of birth records, where he needed to go, when the archivist in front of him cleared his throat again. Draco turned back to him.  
  
The man shook his head. “I’m sorry, Auror Malfoy.” At least he looked it, too, Draco thought, even as his hand went automatically to the shaft of his wand. “The orders came down yesterday. No one is to have access to Harry Potter’s birth records.”  
  
Draco simply stared. It had cowed better wizards than this. The archivist bowed, and bowed again. The ugly soul-mark on his cheek, which looked like half a cup, flickered in and out of sight as his long brown hair swung against his shoulders.  
  
“From the Minister himself,” the archivist whispered.  
  
Draco stepped back. _So that’s why the glare didn’t work._ It never did on people who were more afraid of someone than they were of Draco himself.  
  
“Very well,” said Draco. “I shall remember that you tried to help me…”  
  
The archivist blinked and looked up in astonishment. Draco let him have a glimpse of the hawthorn wand strapped to Draco’s side, and he turned away again.  
  
“This time, at least,” Draco said. “I hope the next time, you can be even more helpful.”  
  
The man nodded hard enough that his hair hit his desk with a rasping sound, but Draco didn’t stay to hear it. He had turned to take the stairs. In his current mood, it would be better for him than the lifts.  
  
He bounded, and as he did, his brain turned in slow circles. Minister de Berenzan was the one who had assigned him to track down Potter in the first place, and it was common knowledge that Potter had gone missing—and run headlong into Dark magic, the Ministry thought now—after looking at his birth records.   
  
It was apparently the first time Potter had ever seen them, since he’d grown up outside the wizarding world and then appeared not to have known they existed.  
  
Draco knew he didn’t need to know exactly why Potter had disappeared. He had the Ministry’s evidence, from Potter’s flat, of Dark Arts texts and ingredients that were illegal to purchase. They could arrest Potter on that basis alone, although it might have been a little much to assign the Ministry’s top Auror to such a case.   
  
But Draco wanted to know what the enemy looked like from inside his own head, not simply the Ministry’s point-of-view, and de Berenzan knew that.  
  
Draco let his face fall into neutral lines as he stalked back to his office, something that still made people avoid him.   
  
Well. He’d do without the information. Pleading with de Berenzan would do no good, not when the man wanted to see Draco fail almost as much as he wanted to use his skills. Marshall de Berenzan was Muggleborn and had never forgiven Draco for the way he’d walked away unscathed from the war.  
  
 _A walking away due to Potter._  
  
Draco shrugged at that, and reached for the pile of information he did have, to revise it before he began the chase. Potter had had years to claim Draco’s unfulfilled debts, including the ones Draco owed Potter for saving his life during the war. He’d never done so.  
  
And now, he was prey.   
  
*  
  
Draco looked around slowly, turning in a complete circle to do so. Potter’s flat was small and dark, and not because it was night. Draco hadn’t lit the fire or the candles that stood in large rings around the room. He didn’t want to disturb the last place Potter had been seen any more than the Aurors already had.  
  
Draco felt a stir of contempt twisting in his heart. Did _no one_ recognize the configuration and placement of the candles? Was he the only one who thought such details noteworthy instead of irrelevant?  
  
Of course, Draco knew the answer to that question. The Ministry disliked him enough that they would never have relied on him or promoted him or publically called him their best Auror if they had a choice. But they didn’t, because no other Aurors had the skills Draco did.  
  
One of those was enough familiarity with the Dark Arts to know what the candles were. Draco moved to the side, tilting his head, and yes, there was a red candle on a small ledge inside the fireplace, exactly where he had expected. The other Aurors hadn’t seen that. Their reports talked about a ring of white candles alternating with black, which meant, they had thought, that Potter was trying to summon the powerful forces of chaos magic Muggles called demons.  
  
But the red candles, in the fireplace and on a small table shoved behind a door and in the next room when Draco moved to check there, changed both the colors and the shape of the “circle.” It was actually a spiral, the center closing in on a burned patch of carpet immediately before an overstuffed chair.  
  
Draco knelt and drew his wand, murmuring a Revealing Charm. The other Aurors had already done this, but they hadn’t known all of the possible charms, and after the nonsense with being denied access to Potter’s birth records, Draco wanted to see everything else for himself.  
  
The burned patch of carpet released a puff of smoke that smelled of lavender, of all things, and a twisting, smoky shape rose from it. Draco sat back and stared as the smoke resolved into a flower. Not an uncommon soul-mark, Draco thought with a faint frown, although half a flower was more common. When laid together with the mark on the wrist or brow or otherwise of one’s soulmate, it would form a complete picture, a complete blossom.  
  
But Draco knew, like everyone else, that Potter’s soul-mark was a lightning bolt. Why was he summoning pictures of a completely different mark?  
  
 _Unless the other rumors are true, and that lightning bolt was only the shape of the curse that the Dark Lord inflicted on him. Unless Potter’s real soul-mark was hidden underneath that._ Draco had never given those rumors much credence, since Potter’s scar had faded since the war but never disintegrated to show another mark beneath it. On the other hand, he would never have thought Potter capable of rituals like the one the candle-spiral showed, either.  
  
This was a ritual that was supposed to destroy the link between soulmates. Reveal the mark they carried, then burn the image with the candle fire called inwards to the center of the spiral. It would burn the mark on the caster’s arm or brow or face or wrist, and set the caster free of an unwanted relationship that others might expect them to pursue. Pure-bloods had used it for centuries when they found themselves soulmated to someone from an unsuitable family.  
  
Highly illegal, of course. And also not something Draco would have expected from Potter, with his Gryffindor convictions of romantic love, and the high chance that he was soulmated to Weasley’s little sister.   
  
Draco stood and looked around the room, again. He breathed slowly and felt his old convictions drop from him like baggy clothing.  
  
He had to give up the idea that Potter was a Gryffindor romantic. That he was soulmated to Weasley’s sister. If he was, she would have gone with him on this run. And Draco would have more of an idea of what had made Potter take off in the first place.  
  
He would search. But Draco was afraid that the mystery had been deepened, not clarified, by coming here.  
  
*  
 _  
_“I won’t owe you anything after this, Malfoy.”  
  
The flash in the eyes was the same as always, and the way Rose Sheldon kept her face turned away, and how her hand shook as she dropped the papers into his hand. Draco nodded and held out the flask of potion he’d brewed last night.  
  
Sheldon shied back from him, eyes narrowed. She had brown hair and brown eyes with a hint of amber that had made Draco, the first time he met her, think she was a werewolf.   
  
“I won’t take that foul stuff.”  
  
Draco shook his head. “I’d just as soon as you did. I’d like to have it out of the house, and you can think of it as a farewell gift.”  
  
Sheldon paused, eyes flickering from his face to the potion flask. Her hand shook again. Of course it did, Draco thought. It was a well-known consequence of taking the Lucid Dreaming Potion too much, disappearing into surreal visions of loveliness that the mind could control instead of drifting helplessly through.  
  
Draco held the flask out, and waited. Lucid Dreaming affected the memory, too, blending reality with the things the drinker imagined. It was the only thing that had made it possible for him to keep luring her back so often, probably.  
  
Or maybe not. Sheldon had been stupid enough to let herself get addicted in the first place, and stupid enough to go on taking the “gifts” that he gave her. Sooner or later, she would then come back to him for more of the potion, and offer to trade information for it. Sheldon didn’t work directly in the archives, but she knew how to get files from them. Draco had never asked her how.  
  
There were certain things he needed to never know, so that he wouldn’t speak of them under Veritaserum.   
  
“Oh, fine,” Sheldon snapped, and snatched the flask from his hand. “But only because you want to get rid of it.”  
  
Draco nodded. He didn’t need to hide a smile, only the fine-grained lines of contempt that would spring up around his mouth otherwise. “All right. Good-bye.”  
  
Sheldon slinked out of his office, although it was six in the evening and most of Draco’s fellow Aurors would have gone home by now. Draco had earned a reputation as someone who liked to stay late to commune with the files.  
  
 _And that’s even true,_ Draco thought, as he opened the file. _They simply never knew which ones those were._  
  
Pondering the files Sheldon had got him—which unfortunately didn’t include Potter’s birth records—Draco thought that Potter’s flight was stranger than ever. Potter hadn’t been in trouble with the law, or dropped his friends lately, or been seen going into the shops where he would have had to purchase those books and ritual materials. It was only when he had vanished that anyone had got concerned enough to break into his flat, and the Ministry had started thinking of his disappearance as the flight of a fugitive rather than a kidnapping.  
  
Potter’s life up to the moment of his disappearance seemed rather normal for someone honored and feted by the wizarding world. Invitations, charity work, some Auror training that Potter hadn’t completed.  
  
But he had gone through enough classes on Stealth and Tracking to make it inconvenient to stalk him, Draco thought. That would be one reason they’d given this chase to Draco.  
  
Draco settled slowly back in his chair and read the file again. Sometimes, that helped. That way, he had picked up on more than one clue that someone else had missed, unforgivably when it was staring them that openly in the face.  
  
And then he found it. A line that made him sit up and stare. Then he went back and picked up another line, and another. He didn’t write them down on parchment, but linked them together like a string of pearls in his mind, until he had a complete necklace that would be another ornament to the grace of his intelligence.  
  
 _Harry Potter did tell his friends that he felt lonely without his soulmate…He let them know that he was intending to search for his soulmate, according to Hermione Granger…He had more than once told his friends that he envied their close and constant bond, Ron Weasley recalled…Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger had discovered their matching soul-marks, the two halves of a crossed book and broom, at age eleven…Sometimes Potter remarked that he wondered what would have happened if he had gone to Healers and insisted that they take a close look at his curse scar from You-Know-Who…Granger remembers Potter coming to her house drunk one night a fortnight before he vanished, sobbing and saying that he wished one could choose whose soulmate one was…George Weasley noted a request Potter had made for “stones,” and remembers seeing a book on earth magic under his arm…_  
  
Draco nodded slowly. It was the sort of clue that would have been no use to any other Aurors even if they had noticed them, the same way most of them wouldn’t have known what to do with the clue of the candles forming a spiral in Potter’s flat. They hadn’t studied enough obscure branches of magic to apply them to this case.  
  
But Draco had. And he knew there was an ancient ritual one could perform, not to destroy the soul-mark, but to actually _change_ one’s soulmate. It was Dark magic, of course. Interfering with someone else’s soul-mark—even in the most “harmless” rendition, which changed the mark of an unborn infant and made them into the soulmate for the caster at birth—always was.  
  
Draco was almost certain, now, that Potter had discovered his soul-mark tied him to someone he hated. Perhaps even, although Draco barely let his mind explore the edges of the delicious possibility, the deceased Dark Lord.  
  
Softly, Draco touched the back of his left arm, and the soul-mark there that the fading Dark Mark almost obscured. It was half a flower, not so different from the image conjured by the smoke earlier that day in Potter’s flat.  
  
If Potter had done the sensible thing and taken Draco’s hand that day on the train, then perhaps he wouldn’t have taken this idea about soulmates to extremes. Slytherin was full of people who were unhappy with their soulmates, who didn’t marry them or even sleep with them, who turned away from them to carry on the legacy of their families.  
  
But instead, Potter had come up through Gryffindor, and seen his two best friends discover their soulmates in each other in his first year, and—from what little attention Draco had deigned to pay to gossip after he left Hogwarts—most of the other people in his House eventually do the same. Weasley’s parents were also soulmated, Draco was fairly sure. What Potter’s Muggle relatives had been like no one knew for sure, but it didn’t matter, since Muggles didn’t have soul-marks to begin with.  
  
Potter, surrounded by pictures of sickening soulmate romance, without a good dose of reality to balance it, would have believed there was something wrong with him if he didn’t find his soulmate right away. Because he didn’t have a visible mark. Because he might have turned out to be mated to someone he didn’t want to be tied to.  
  
So, instead of simply accepting that and working around it, trying to find romance somewhere else, he’d gone stampeding off into the wilderness to mess with ancient earth magic and get his chance at love.  
  
Draco snorted. No one had ever told Potter, apparently, that some soulmates were born decades apart and one might be dead before the other ever reached a conscious age; that others were enemies and never overcame that; that some men had a male soulmate when they couldn’t bring themselves to sleep with men, and the same for women; that sometimes soulmates could be friends instead of throwing themselves into a great passionate affair to shine down the ages.  
  
And other times, there were more important things to one or both of those people than engaging in any kind of affair. Draco knew very well who bore his soul-mark. He also knew that he was never going to approach her, because he disliked her and she would have been a liability.  
  
 _Maybe I can be the one to introduce Potter to the truth._  
  
 _Right after I arrest him for tampering with forbidden magic, of course. And find him._  
  
Draco smiled a little. That would be a bit difficult, but only a bit. The ritual needed a special place as well as special kinds of spells and props. Perhaps three sites in Britain and a few in Scotland and Wales qualified.  
  
Draco would find Potter, and get to have an entertaining conversation or two before he brought him in.  
  
 _Yes, this is an interesting case after all._


	2. Runes and Truth

Draco spent a moment looking at the letter in his hand, nearly doubting the truth of it. Then he rapped on the door in front of him, holding out the letter. If she had changed her mind or forgotten that she’d said she would talk to him, he intended to remind her right away.  
  
But although the door opened abruptly, Ginny Weasley showed no sign of refusing him. She merely nodded like an exhausted horse and moved out of the way. “Well, come in.”  
  
Draco did, looking around with neutral eyes. There were tables everywhere, small round ones; Weasley ran a little restaurant in Diagon Alley, in the shadow of her brother’s joke shop. As Weasley turned away from Draco to fling a cloth she’d held over the outline of a counter, Draco saw her soul-mark in the center of her back, directly above the dipping back of her shirt.  
  
It was always difficult to judge the looks of half a soul-mark when you didn’t know what the whole one was meant to be, but Draco was fairly sure he could say it was broom bristles. It didn’t look like a lightning bolt.  
  
“What do you want to know about Harry?”  
  
Draco took the chair across from her at the table she’d flopped down at, and studied her for a minute. Weasley met his eyes and said nothing. She gave him the impression of dust in her hair and around the corners of her face, even though in reality she was perfectly clean.  
  
“The files I read said that he mourned not having a soulmate. First, I wanted to know if you were his soulmate or ever thought you were.”  
  
Weasley gave a snort. She leaned back and stared over Draco’s head at the window in the far wall, although as far as Draco could tell it looked out on nothing more interesting than the window of another shop. “I don’t know. I thought for a long time I was his soulmate, because he seemed to trust me more than any other woman he knew. But he never trusted me enough to show me his mark. Eventually, that became unbearable.”  
  
 _If his soulmate really was the Dark Lord, then perhaps it wasn’t that he needed to trust_ women.  
  
But Draco still had no fuel for that tantalizing fire, so he had to ask a different question. “Did he talk to you about his search for his soulmate?”  
  
“No. That refusal to show me his mark came between us.”  
  
“Did he ever show it to Weas—I mean, your brother? Or Granger?”  
  
Weasley did a good job of withdrawing without moving a muscle. “You would have to ask them that. There were things the three of them talked about that they didn’t bother including me in.”  
  
 _Well, isn’t that interesting._ “But Potter never seemed romantically interested in either of them?”  
  
“Ron and Hermione knew they were soulmates from a very young age. I don’t see how Harry _could_ have felt that way about Hermione.”  
  
 _The persistent refusal to admit that soulmates of the same sex exist. And the idea that of course desire would simply die once you realized someone was someone else’s soulmate. It’s no wonder that Potter felt he had to run away, if he did end up with a soulmate he hated._  
  
“You know there were Dark Arts books found in his flat?” Weasley nodded, but offered no information, so Draco had to pry. “He never told you about trying to acquire those?”  
  
“Why would he?” Weasley lifted her hands, dropped them as if to say they’d become useless. “He didn’t trust me with anything else. By the end—I mean, the end of the time we dated, we were barely speaking.”  
  
“What time was that?” The notes in the file hadn’t mentioned an exact date, probably because it was so long ago that the Aurors who’d investigated felt it had nothing to do with Potter’s disappearance. _Fools_.  
  
“Two years ago. April 30th.”  
  
Draco had to pause a moment. April 30th, the day before Beltane, was also sometimes a time for Dark rituals and the calling of powerful forces that couldn’t be summoned any other day of the year. Had Potter been gazing into fires and stones even then, and had learned that, for him, there was no point to dating Weasley because she wasn’t his soulmate?  
  
 _I do wish I could discover what caused him to be so obsessed with the idea in the first place. He has to have known one person who didn’t find forever with their soulmate._  
  
But Draco didn’t know enough about Gryffindors and Weasleys to be certain of that. He switched tracks. “Do you know anyone in Potter’s year who didn’t find their soulmate?”  
  
“What?”  
  
Draco started to repeat the question, but Weasley caught the air and stopped him, shaking her head. “No, I know what you mean. And the answer is, I don’t think so. As far as I can tell, Lavender and Parvati and Neville and Seamus and Dean all did. So not among the people he knew best. There were a girl in my year and a boy in the year below who didn’t, and that’s all I personally know of.”  
  
Draco braced himself to move fast if he had to. “What about in your family?”  
  
Weasley gestured at herself. Draco nodded. “But your brother…”  
  
“And Bill, yeah. And George found his soulmate last year—” Draco did remember hearing about the jokester’s wedding, when he strained his mind a little “—and Percy is probably dating his. I think the only one who didn’t, besides me, is Charlie.”  
  
“Do you think Potter went and talked to him?”  
  
Weasley looked suddenly thoughtful. “You know, I never asked.” Then she shook her head and looked at Draco. “But if you’re thinking that’s where he went now, you’re mistaken. The Aurors already contacted Charlie, and he said he hadn’t seen Harry.”  
  
“I just wondered if it might have happened in the past.” Draco was collecting more evidence for his idea that Potter might have lit out into the wilderness if he didn’t think he could have a perfect bond with his soulmate, stupid though such a thing was. “And one more question. Potter’s parents were soulmated, weren’t they?”  
  
Weasley nodded, eyes narrow. Draco knew why. That was probably part of the legend of James and Lily Potter that every Gryffindor knew.  
  
But Draco had never been that interested in the legend of the dead. When a living legend walked around the school with you, you tended to concentrate on him instead.  
  
“And everyone talked about how happy they were and how they meant the world to each other?”  
  
“That’s two questions.”  
  
Draco waited. Weasley sighed through her nose. Looked out the window again, as though her soulmate would reveal himself in the bricks of the facing wall. “Yes. They did. I think it was the first thing everyone mentioned to Harry—well, maybe the second, after they mentioned how much he looked like his father except with his mother’s eyes. How happy they were. How much in love they were.”  
  
That sealed the confirmation in Draco’s mind. Potter had acted ridiculous, but of course he would, if everyone was constantly laying the pressure on him to find his soulmate and be happy with her because his parents had been.   
  
“I will try to find him,” Draco told Weasley, as a sop for helping him, and started to stand up.  
  
“Wait.”  
  
Draco waited, and still Weasley said nothing, staring at the table like the weight of her hair had become too much. Draco imitated a pillar as long as he could. He could wait for the sake of something else important about Potter, but he thought perhaps Weasley had exhausted all her useful information and simply wanted to make herself feel important.  
  
Then Weasley looked up, and Draco was sure of it.  
  
“If you find him,” Weasley whispered, “tell him I’m sorry I couldn’t be what he needed.”  
  
Draco nodded politely, committing the words to memory. They might be useful to manipulate Potter with. “Good-bye,” he added, and left before Weasley could throw out some other references to doomed romance. Draco wouldn’t be sentimental about it no matter what she did, so staying here simply wasted her time and his.  
  
*  
  
Draco stood up. He had his first destination in mind, the site of Stonehenge. He would be able to Apparate there without trouble, since he’d visited it years ago in connection with another case.  
  
And yet he didn’t simply leave his own flat. He paused. There was a niggling in his mind, a fleeting thought that darted behind others like a dragon determined to remain within the shadows of the forest.  
  
Draco had learned to trust those nigglings. He stood still with his head bowed, until he turned a corner and met it face-to-face.   
  
_There. There it is._  
  
He needed to look again at the list of books that Potter had left behind in his flat. The Aurors who had investigated had concentrated only on the obvious Dark Arts texts. But there might be another clue hidden behind those. Draco was remembering something he had seen and not recalled until now.  
  
He turned and dug within the neatly-organized pile of paperwork he’d brought home from the Ministry. Yes, there it was. The list of books left behind consisted of three pages. Draco traveled slowly down it with one finger, not trying to rush his revelation.  
  
 _There._  
  
Potter had bought book after book on soulmates. But only a few were the sort of introduction designed for Muggleborns entering the wizarding world, or directly about legends of unhappy soulmates, the kind of reading material Draco had thought he would choose. There were many more _novels_ and, of all things, collections of fairy tales. Draco recognized most of the titles.  
  
All about soulmates who lived happily after finding each other.  
  
Draco cocked his head slowly to the side. Potter had fled with the intent of doing something about his soulmate, whom he thought was unsuitable. Draco was utterly certain of it. What, then, was he doing reading these books? Tormenting himself further?  
  
Draco would have thought that they were simply the older volumes in Potter’s collection and he had moved on to the uglier side later, but the list of books also included the purchase price and time of those Draco’s inferiors had been able to track down. The novels were almost all new; all but two collections of the fairy tales were.  
  
What had Potter done, then? Bought the books as cover for the armfuls of less respectable texts he had carried out? Scanned the fairy tales for information that could be seen as garbled tales of older rituals? Wavered back and forth between tormenting himself with those happy versions of soul-marks and the people they drew together and the reality he must be facing?  
  
Draco frowned and laid the list slowly back in its place. He might not be facing a Potter psychologically prepared for violence and committed to Dark magic, as he had assumed he would. He might, instead, face a conflicted Potter, one who would resort to violence and try to apologize and excuse himself at the same time.  
  
Draco had faced many such criminals divided within themselves. It was always disturbing, and frequently bloody.  
  
Then he shook his head. He was sure he knew what Potter was trying to do, and he still had an excellent lead on locating him. His motivations weren’t the most important _first_ step, and could wait.  
  
Still, as Draco Apparated to Stonehenge, unease rang in the back of his mind like a gong.  
  
*  
  
Draco felt the magic the minute he opened his eyes.  
  
Of course he did, he thought as he straightened. Stonehenge was ancient, soaked in earth magic. Many Muggle superstitions about the places were inaccurate; to be fair, so were a lot of wizarding myths. But simply from the placement of the stones, their age, and the way people had come here to gawk and be fascinated and take pictures and worship in muddled ways, much magic had built up around them.   
  
Earth magic was always like that, fragmented and mosaic-composed.  
  
Draco began to turn in a slow circle, his wand sweeping out around him like the hand of a watch. He had cast a Disillusionment Charm before he Apparated, and the charm shielded him from the people wandering around. Draco did have to pause and adjust the spell he was using, because too much interference came from the occasional wizard.  
  
But finally, he picked up on the trail he was searching for, a small trace of Potter’s magic he had acquired from handling things taken from his flat. Draco smiled and began walking towards it.  
  
It led him on a winding path around the edge of the stones, and then abruptly, right into them. Draco raised his eyebrows and walked delicately through the Muggle guard devices. He could disable them easily enough, and it was clear Potter had done so, too, but Draco wouldn’t have expected a good, “clean” soul like Potter to come so close to breaking the Statute of Secrecy.  
  
The trail stopped abruptly at a small mound of earth, and then vanished. Potter must have Apparated from here.  
  
Draco knelt down and examined the mound. It was ordinary, covered already with steadily growing grass that Potter had probably seeded. At least he had cared enough about the Statute of Secrecy to cover up his magical work.  
  
Draco cast spell after spell. Then he took out a few gemstones and his carving stylus and created a small ritual of his own. At the end, he had to sit back and wonder if he had been mistaken about either the original reason for Potter’s flight or the ability of his own magic to figure out what was going on.  
  
There was no Dark magic here. Only earth magic.  
  
Draco sat in stillness for some moments, head bowed, senses focused on the world around him only enough to warn him if someone came near. His mind was turning slowly over and over, reconsidering angles, trying to make sense of what _had_ made sense so perfectly until he came here.  
  
Stonehenge was the most powerful and closest of the sites Potter might have tried. Draco hadn’t expected him to stay here, precisely _because_ it was the closest. But his remnants should have stunk more of Dark magic than this.  
  
Potter’s motivations might have acquired the importance now that Draco had expected them to have later in the hunt.  
  
 _What are you doing, Potter?_  
  
No answer awaited him where he was. Draco rose to his feet and cast another spell, one that made the stones around him blaze once before they unleashed memories of all the magic performed in their presence in the past ten days. The earth mound was certainly younger than that.  
  
There were Apparition spells, and small rituals for good luck that had a magical component—sometimes accidentally—and a few spells of the kind that would guard meals eaten outside from ants and flies and the like. A Cooling Charm. A Warming Charm. Draco shrugged. They were in the part of spring that meant the weather could vary beyond individuals’ tolerances.  
  
Then he stiffened. There was another spell in there, one that was performed next to something that looked like an earth mound, although the face of the person who had performed it was blurred—deliberately, Draco was sure. The wizard bent and passed a hand through the earth mound.  
  
When it came out, it was holding a stone.   
  
But not just any stone, Draco saw when he squinted. It looked as if it had been chipped and cut. A stone carving of a blade? Or just a stone blade? Something similar to that, Draco was sure. He shook his head.  
  
The memory faded then, and left Draco standing among the ancient magic still not knowing any more about what had happened or what Potter was doing than when he had come in. Draco felt his mouth turn sharply downwards.  
  
He was wasting time— _losing_ time—and that was not acceptable. The best Auror in the Ministry didn’t do things like this.  
  
Draco reached out and cut his wand through the pattern of another spell before he could think about all the consequences. The magic flickered for a second around him, bone-white and then a cool blue, before it took hold.  
  
Much more ancient memories leaped up from the stones, magic that had been performed here in the past six months. Draco sank to his knees as the magical exhaustion overwhelmed him. There he stayed, panting harshly, as the images spun through his mind.  
  
And there was nothing there. Nothing Dark. Nothing that was performed by another wizard with his face shielded. Nothing that involved a small earth mound or a stone knife, or a stone carved to look like a knife.  
  
Nothing. Draco had cast a spell on the edge of Dark for the effort it took for _no reason_.  
  
Anger was stirring in him by the time he could finally stand up and get ready to Apparate. He used it, though, to shape and focus his mind, stripping away the excess emotions, until his thoughts were an arrowhead of purpose.  
  
As he Apparated to the Giant’s Causeway, Draco used that purpose to guide himself. He was going to find Potter. He was going to bring him down and arrest him and take him back to the Ministry.  
  
And he was going to make sure, before he handed Potter into the custody of other Aurors, that he told Draco the truth about what he thought he was doing. A private interrogation.  
  
Draco was going to _know_.


	3. Signs on the Giant's Causeway

Draco picked his way carefully across the tilting stones in front of him, down and down towards the sea. He’d looked over the causeway from the heights, and found no trace of Potter.  
  
He’d been reluctant to go closer to the water, because earth magic often dimmed in proximity to another element, and it made the most sense to Draco that Potter would want the strongest version he could get. But on the other hand, Potter at least had to have _visited_ here. The tingle of the stones made Draco’s back teeth hum.  
  
He paused on a gleaming pale brown column above the sea, braced his hand, and looked down. White curls of foam ran up onto the stone beneath him, stroking and caressing. Draco sneered a little. There were Muggles here and there on the causeway—not that they could see him under the Disillusionment Charm he maintained—and nearly all of them avoided looking at the water.  
  
As if it would sense their fear and destroy them sooner. As if they might let a foot or hand slip when they were studiously Not Looking.  
  
Draco shook his head. He would never understand Muggles and their inability to admit the role chance played in their lives.  
  
He leaped lightly down and landed on a column that actually vibrated with the pounding of the waves. He balanced anyway, because this was the sort of thing training on a thin rope above conjured vipers was useful for, and cast another spell that ought to let him home in on Potter’s magical signature.  
  
The feel of it was so strong this time, unexpectedly, that it snapped Draco’s head to the side. He found himself staring straight at a low column with something round on top of it. Draco had seen it from the corner of his eye, but dismissed it as a lost Muggle ball.  
  
It wasn’t. Instead, it looked like a round stone that had been slotted into a groove of some kind on the top of the column.  
  
And Draco could see, when he cast another spell, the slight smoke of white and purple magic rising around it.  
  
Triumph filled him, and he touched his wand to his heels and cast the Mercury Charm without pausing to wait for the Muggles to look away, as he usually would. They couldn’t see him anyway. Draco wanted to be over there right _now_.  
  
When he leaped, his feet were light, the new wings attached to his ankles flapping madly. It took a concentrated effort to make his way across to the column and round stone—almost like skating—but that had never impeded the Ministry’s best Auror. Draco landed gently right next to the stone, crouched on hands and feet. Then he stretched out his hand and closed his eyes.  
  
Yes. There was magic here, familiar magic, and when Draco opened his eyes and looked more closely, he could see the runes someone had carved into the top of the stone ball.  
  
There wasn’t much room on the top of the column, but Draco managed to pace in a circle around it, running his fingers slowly down the sides and as much of the bottom of the stone as he could reach. The more he touched, the more the familiar sense of magic crept into his fingerbones. By the time he took a step back from it, Draco was sure he would recognize the particular feel of that magic anywhere.  
  
Then he began a different search, aimed at revealing what Potter had done here.  
  
Half an hour later, his legs ached from his precarious perch atop the column, a few Muggles had started to glance over as if wondering why they briefly couldn’t see parts of the rock, and Draco wanted to curse in a way he hadn’t wanted to since—well, since the last time Potter had beaten him at Quidditch, truthfully.  
  
He couldn’t tell what Potter had _done_. He couldn’t feel the touch of Dark Arts. He wasn’t magically strong enough right now to call up the memories of the rocks for magic the way he had done at Stonehenge. And the runes on top of the stone were the sort that could be used in a ritual, but they were only powerful if the person who’d cut them was right next to them. Potter couldn’t use them to draw earth magic from the Giant’s Causeway if he wasn’t here.  
  
Draco closed his eyes and forced himself to stop biting at his tongue like an Abraxan champing the bit. He concentrated, instead, on the shapes of the runes in his mind, burning them in until he was sure he could place them in a Pensieve and retain an absolutely accurate memory later. He wasn’t going to mess up the chase by jumping to conclusions about a clue.  
  
When he was sure he was calm, able to go home and rest and come back when he was restored enough to cast the Stone Memory spell again, he opened his eyes.  
  
Only to find that the configuration of runes on top of the stone ball had _changed_.  
  
Draco hissed and nearly jumped backwards, but the Mercury Charm was dangerously exhausted, and he would probably have fallen. Again he mastered his emotions and bent over the top of the stone to look at it.  
  
Most of the runes were the same. But they no longer lay in a perfect circle; their shape had shifted so that two of them were floating off to the side of the ring the others made. And as Draco watched, a new rune slowly blossomed among them, the rune Raido, the rune that bespoke a journey.  
  
No other new runes appeared, although Draco spent long moments staring until he was ready to be sure of that. Then he turned and Apparated home after all, collapsing on his couch and staring at the ceiling. His body trembled hard, with the aftereffects of magic and the effort of keeping from falling and the burn of his rage.  
  
 _What is Potter_ doing? _That kind of magic is_ impossible.  
  
And he was a fool to lie here thinking things like that, when he had clearly seen a new rune come to life on the stone. Potter had done it. Draco had to figure out how, instead of hiding his head in his hands and wailing that it couldn’t happen.  
  
Draco rolled over, punched a pillow savagely, and then lay back down and focused his mind on what Potter must be doing, the motivations as he had seen them, the facts of the case as he knew them, diving into meditation from which he did not intend to emerge until he had some more clues.  
  
*  
  
Draco tossed another book over his head, and savagely shook out the pages of the one he held. He _knew_ he had read a possible explanation for what Potter was doing in one of these books. He wasn’t going to let it defeat him. He would find it and he would read it and he would _have_ it.  
  
And there. There it was. Draco narrowed his eyes and stilled his trembling hands, and read about the spell that was entirely theoretical, but which it seemed Potter had now accomplished.  
  
 _Earth magic is the least well-understood of the elemental branches of magic. Other than in the matter of clearing earth for houses—not something that wizards in Britain often do now, with most spaces fully-occupied and no longer able to grow—it seems less immediately useful than water or air magic. Fire magic has been adapted into offensive spells, but by common agreement, few earth magic spells of the same caliber have been adopted. Offensive earthquakes and the like have as much potential to cause damage to the casting wizard’s side and allies as the opposing one._  
  
 _However, the possibilities of earth magic have sometimes excited the brains of the best research wizards. One course of study that has received particular attention is the idea that it might be possible to cast a distant spell on a particular patch of earth, and still receive the benefit of the magic, as long as one’s feet were kept solidly on the earth._  
  
 _This kind of magic would still be limited by bodies of water and the like. However, there is a connection between one patch of earth and another unless they are broken by oceans or channels; earth flows on, and at the deepest levels connects in ways that humans cannot touch. A wizard who could master earth magic might touch off offensive spells or wards or even charms that could strengthen his core in one area while being safely far away, at any distance he chose that was on the same side of an ocean. It might even be possible on the far side of an ocean, if the magic penetrated sufficiently deep into the unbroken earth._  
  
 _Aside from the lack of study most earth magic has received, this theoretical possibility has another problem, however. Objects like stones grow in magic as they attain age. But their very age makes them harder for wizards to work with, as does their natural magic, which is not human in origin. Great feats of power await the researcher who manages to get around these limitations._  
  
Draco put the book back on the shelf and sat on his couch staring into space. His heart was still thundering, and he could taste anger in his mouth.  
  
There were theoretical puzzles Potter could solve that would have made the magic _possible_. Draco could acknowledge that. That wasn’t the same as saying he could have solved them.   
  
Why would someone who had never shown any interest in magical theory, and whose book purchases in the past year had included _fairy tales_ , suddenly be able to master a kind of magic that had baffled the greatest minds for generations?  
  
Draco shook his head. There was a piece here he was missing, at least one. But he was too close to the problem now, baffled and infuriated about a hunt he had expected to be easy. He would relax for now, contemplate the signs he had unearthed, and write a preliminary report for the Ministry. He would begin again tomorrow.  
  
*  
  
He didn’t get the full evening’s meditation and full night’s sleep he had been planning on.  
  
Draco was rising from his time in his meditation circle when the Floo puffed to life. Draco drew his wand automatically, but relaxed a little when Minister de Berenzan’s face appeared in the flames. Or at least moved to a different level of tension.  
  
“We need to talk about the Potter case, Auror Malfoy.”  
  
“Yes, sir,” said Draco, and waited until de Berenzan had pulled back to wave his wand over his robes, Transfiguring them into Auror ones. If the Minister could condemn Draco for disrespect, he would, even if it was something as simple as showing up in informal robes for an unexpected meeting.  
  
Draco went through the Floo with grace, even given de Berenzan’s notoriously short hearth. He thought there was a gleam of disappointment in the Minister’s eyes as he took the chair across from him.  
  
They studied each other.  
  
Enrico de Berenzan was a short man with intense dark eyes and a graceful face and hands that made him seem taller than he really was. Draco, who had sometimes used his own carriage and gestures to compensate for what other people thought of him, could admire that.  
  
But nothing else about the man. Including how he had pushed his way to the top through flogging pure-bloods with their guilt about “failing” Muggleborns during the war, and then turned on his pure-blood supporters and slashed them to ribbons.  
  
“I want to know everything you’ve found out about Potter’s flight.”  
  
“Yes, Minister.” Draco didn’t blink. “I found that he’s been practicing earth magic. He’s been to Stonehenge, and performed a ritual there that ended with him pulling a stone knife out of the earth. He’s also been to the Giant’s Causeway—”  
  
“Why would he flee for practicing _earth magic?_ There must be something else. Something you’ve missed.”  
  
Draco met de Berenzan’s eyes without fear. Even if the man had been a Legilimens, Draco would have trusted in the strength of his mind’s walls. “There must be indeed, Minister. Rather like the Aurors who first investigated Potter’s flat.”  
  
de Berenzan’s face stiffened. “If you mean to imply something about my nephew, Auror Malfoy—”  
  
“No,” said Draco. “He would not have had reason to notice the extra red candles in the fireplace and the next room, and the way the candles were arranged in a spiral instead of a circle.”  
  
Draco watched in peace as de Berenzan struggled for a response. It was either show ignorance or his real knowledge—which Draco was sure he had—and thus seem as if he had studied Dark Arts.  
  
In the end, de Berenzan went with the humiliation of false ignorance. “What do you think that ritual was meant to do, then?” he growled.  
  
“Cast and burn an image of Potter’s soulmate. Everything I can find indicates he was deeply unhappy with his soul-mark, for some reason. He seems to have been frustrated that he didn’t find his soulmate in the youngest Weasley sibling. I spoke to her. He had never showed her his mark. There is also an open possibility that he might have found his soulmate in someone he despised.”  
  
Draco spoke with the briskness he always used when reporting, while keeping an open eye on de Berenzan’s features. He was the one who had banned anyone else from looking into Potter’s birth records. That argued he knew what was in them.  
  
de Berenzan had turned pale. For a moment, his hand passed across his mouth, but Draco didn’t have a chance to analyze that gesture before he snapped, “Continue working those angles, then, Malfoy. I suppose you haven’t spoken to Potter’s friends yet?”  
  
“I was unsure if you would want me to, Minister. I know your feelings about former Death Eaters approaching war heroes.”  
  
For a second, de Berenzan looked as if he was going to vomit. Draco would have enjoyed it if the hand he had passed across his mouth earlier was to hold himself back from emptying his stomach, but he didn’t think he could be that lucky.  
  
de Berenzan shook his head a moment later. “This is a very important case, Auror Malfoy. You need to find him. And he’s already a war hero, anyway. I give you permission to speak to Weasley and Granger.”  
  
“Thank you, sir.”   
  
They sat in silence a second more, and then de Berenzan jerked his head at the fireplace. Draco bowed his head and rose to his feet.   
  
“I heard that you tried to gain access to Potter’s birth records, Auror Malfoy.”  
  
“I did, sir. Since Potter fled right after reading something in them, there was the possibility that—”  
  
“I want you to stop.”  
  
“Stop hunting Potter?”  
  
“Stop trying to gain access to his birth records.”  
  
Draco nodded, while a thrill cut through him. It was like the moment when he saw a criminal make a careless move that was going to result in Draco tracking him down no matter how clever he had been.  
  
 _There is something important there. Something that the Minister knows about, and he wants to keep other people from knowing about. Something I can use to turn this around on him later, if he tries to blame me._  
  
Of course, Draco knew he was going to succeed and bring Potter in. The mere _idea_ that he might not succeed was nonsensical. But it was always nice to have blackmail material on the Minister anyway.  
  
“Yes, Minister,” Draco said aloud, aware that he might have been silent long enough to raise de Berenzan’s suspicions. “I won’t.”  
  
“I mean it, Auror Malfoy. If I even hear of you down in the Ministry archives again, I’ll make sure that you have a minder placed on you.”  
  
“I shouldn’t have to go there to complete the hunt, sir,” Draco told him gently. “Should I leave now?”  
  
de Berenzan nodded, and Draco left, again not stumbling the way he thought the Minister would have wanted him to. But when he came out into his own flat, he spun around and laughed in exhilaration.  
  
Something Potter had fled from lurked down there in the archives. It should have frustrated the hell out of Draco that de Berenzan was keeping something from him and still expecting him to bring Potter in. But it was no more than he had thought would happen, given the way de Berenzan wanted to use Draco’s skills and despised having to turn to a Death Eater at the same time.  
  
And he would win through anyway, and without that information. In the future, when Potter was safe in a holding cell and de Berenzan had moved on to another political cause, Draco would go down and obtain the information for himself.  
  
For now, he had theories of his own to work on, theories more engaging than any facts at least twenty-seven years old could be. Draco, feeling as invigorated as though he had slept a whole night already, took another tome on earth magic down from the shelves.  
  
He no longer feared that Potter was going to do something impossible and outwit Draco while he did. Draco was confident, once more, in his own strength and incredible resourcefulness.  
  
He would win the day, despite all the obstacles his enemies placed in his path. He always did.   
  
And he would have the satisfaction of conquering Potter while he did so.  
  



	4. Confusion at Carn Gluze

Cornwall was bloody _cold_.  
  
 _At least, it is when you forget to put Warming Charms on your robes before you Apparate,_ Draco thought, as he slogged through the shaggy grass and broken stones. Ahead of him loomed the barrow. Draco stepped carefully around it, but he had to go closer, despite the Muggle security precautions.  
  
He had cast a spell that attuned him to the kind of runes Potter had left on the stone ball at the Giant’s Causeway. And at the moment, it was leading Draco straight to the barrow.  
  
Draco gave one glance over the cliff, made sure no Muggles were watching, and then cast a Floating Charm on himself; he was already Disillusioned. The Floating Charm lifted him and let him drift along the top of the cairn without touching it. However, it was hard to control with any wind at all. Draco had to be careful to catch hold of stones along the way to keep himself from simply wafting in a different direction.  
  
He moved like a soap bubble along the top of the cairn, closer and closer to the runes Potter had carved. Draco peered ahead, but at the moment, he couldn’t make out any sign of another ball-like stone. Maybe Potter had done something different this time.  
  
He had.  
  
If he hadn’t looked down when he was flying above the center of the cairn, Draco would have missed it altogether. He had to cancel the Floating Charm right away and drop down, taking the shock of the fall on gently flexed limbs as best he could.  
  
Potter hadn’t carved runes at all. What he’d done was _make_ them. In stone. Draco stared, and paced slowly around them.  
  
His first thought was to wonder why Muggles hadn’t found the added stones and removed them. But then he brushed the edge of a Muggle-Repelling Charm, and raised an eyebrow. It was far subtler than the ancient ones buried in the walls of Hogwarts. It would simply convince Muggles that the rocks were natural, not arranged.  
  
Draco bent down and studied the runes. They were laid in a circular design, like the ones on the stone at the Giant’s Causeway. But when he consulted his memory of those runes, Draco thought this circle was more nearly perfect.  
  
 _Is Potter learning as he goes along?_ But Draco had to shake his head a second later. He was making a beginner’s mistake. Just because he had come to the places in this particular order didn’t mean Potter had done the same thing. Draco had to remember that Potter’s logic and order of the hunt was not his.  
  
So far, though, Draco had been jumping randomly to sites that had absorbed powerful earth magic. He would have to stop doing that soon, he thought.  
  
What was the first one? Had Potter really performed the ritual at Stonehenge first of all, or was that a later step in the process? And how could Draco find out? And how much did it really matter?  
  
And why had Potter decided to make the runes here out of stones instead of carving them as he had at the Giant’s Causeway? From what Draco had read of earth magic in the last few days, the runes would be stronger—assuming Potter had solved the theoretical impossibility of being able to draw magic from a distant site, anyway—if they were all the same. Runes in the same circle, of the same shape, scattered around the British Isles, could give Potter power from several nodes. He might never run out.  
  
 _And then I might never catch him._  
  
Draco banished his impatience and anger and breathed slowly, evenly. Not being caught was Potter’s wish, or desire. Catching him was Draco’s. Therefore, Draco had to take careful steps to make sure that _his_ wish was the one that came true.  
  
A Malfoy’s wishes always prevailed. But that was because they took the steps to make it happen, instead of sitting back and assuming they could feel whatever they wanted and it would _still_ happen.  
  
Draco walked around the circle of runes once more, and let his attention, this time, wander out to include the rest of the area. Did the way the runes were placed, in relation to the larger stones of the cairn, have any effect on their powers? He wouldn’t know unless he paid attention to angles, shadows, maybe even the direction of the wind—  
  
Draco’s eyes widened a second later. He bent down and studied the stones again, the individual ones that made up the runes. It was surprisingly hard to drag his gaze away from the runes they made, from his mind’s insistence that he understand them and read them like writing, and see them as objects instead.  
  
The stones weren’t simple, round rocks. Or even irregularly-shaped ones like Draco had thought they were a moment before. Draco bent further down and cast the Wry-Neck Charm that let his head twist to the side like an owl’s. He wanted to see if his intuition was right without touching the stones and disrupting the magic going on here.  
  
He had the feeling that would be a very bad idea.  
  
The stones were flaked. Some of them had edges broken off as though they’d been pounded against something. Wind and rain? Draco wondered. Or had Potter done it himself? There were spells that would break rock that way, although none _made_ for breaking rock that way. Wizards generally had better things to do with their time.  
  
One of the stones had a hole near the end of it. Potter could have made that, too, although when Draco settled back and closed his eyes and tried to remember as hard as he could, he couldn’t come up with any magical influence that would have. Some stones with large holes in the center _were_ Potions ingredients; some were even used in the making of luck charms. But this was only a tiny hole, near a flaked end.  
  
Draco frowned in frustration. He had the impression there was something obvious he was missing, and he hated little more than that.  
  
But for now, simply crouching in one place and staring doubtfully down at the stones didn’t seem likely to produce anything further. Draco shook his head and stood. He had an appointment with Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger to keep.  
  
*  
  
“Speak up, Malfoy, I can’t hear you.”  
  
 _That is entirely the fault of the place you chose to meet,_ Draco thought, driving the sides of his hands into the table. But from the way he held his mug, no one would notice anyway. His face was calm, at least, and that was the only thing a berk like Weasley paid attention to.  
  
The noise of the Leaky Cauldron at lunchtime hammered around them. People shouted and laughed and made bets and drank and slammed their mugs and shouted some more. Draco had a mug for its usefulness in hiding his emotions, and no other reason.  
  
Weasley had a whole plate full of crisps that he ate with loud crunching noises. Granger sat beside him with a salad she’d doubtless made and brought along. Draco doubted the Leaky Cauldron sold anything as fastidious.  
  
Unlike Weasley, Granger might notice the shade of white on his knuckles. Draco forced himself to relax his hands and speak in a smooth voice. “I only wanted to know if _you_ think Potter’s flight is related to his birth records.”  
  
“Hard to know,” said Weasley, with a crunch and a snap that made Draco want to cast a certain charm at his nether regions, “when we haven’t _seen_ them.” He leaned a little closer, and grease got in Draco’s face. “The Minister wouldn’t let us look at them, even when he wanted us to tell the other Aurors where Harry had gone.”  
  
Granger, sitting calm and alert at Weasley’s side, put a hand on his arm suddenly. “He wouldn’t let _you_ see them?” she asked.  
  
Draco must have revealed some frustration without meaning to. He immediately countered, smoothly building the slip into his strategy for reaching Granger. “No, he wouldn’t. Something surprising about that, isn’t there?” He smiled a little. “After all, we got told that the birth records were the reason, or at least were closely associated with it, but no one can actually look at them.” The _we_ could mean the other Aurors and Draco, but it was also an attempt to pull Weasley and Granger close, include them. It could work.  
  
Granger gave Weasley a look. Weasley nodded and waved a hand and leaned back, eating the crisps with ostentatious quietness.  
  
 _He could have done that at any time,_ Draco thought, and felt as though someone had jabbed him in the back. _He was trying to play me as well as I was trying to play him._  
  
That discomfiting realization made him focus all the more sharply on Granger, his stare a silent demand. Granger nodded back and then said, “I don’t know that the birth records were the reason. But I can tell you Harry wasn’t involved in the Dark Arts. He told me that one night when I asked him if he was, because he had—a stink about him that told me what potions he had been brewing. He said he wasn’t. I trust his word.”  
  
Draco blinked. No one had mentioned anything like this, and from what he remembered, Potter was too poor at Potions to try brewing on his own. “What kind of potion was it?”  
  
“Why should I tell you that?”  
  
Draco met her eyes, understanding some of the tones beneath the question, and said, “I can promise you I’m more understanding than I used to be. I’m doing this as an Auror who wants to ask Potter certain questions. I’m kinder than the Minister or the press would be. And I don’t want to bring him down as a personal rival.”  
  
Maybe Granger would trust Draco’s word, too, even though she had no reason to do so. That certainly seemed to be her reaction as her eyes fell away from his and she frowned at the table. Draco waited.  
  
“Fine,” Granger breathed, looking up at him. “Don’t give me a reason to regret this.”  
  
Draco nodded and waited again, although he could feel his muscles trembling with the tension of the chase. This might be the revelation he finally needed to connect the puzzling pieces of the ritual Potter had performed in his home, the earth magic he had apparently mastered, and the disillusionment with his soul-mate that Draco was certain lurked somewhere at the bottom of this.  
  
“Harry was brewing potions that could help someone change personality traits they didn’t like in themselves.” Granger sighed a little and picked at her salad. “They’re tricky—” she didn’t have to tell Draco _that,_ but he didn’t dream of interrupting “—and they can change someone further than they meant to go. I told him that, and he told me that he had a very specific idea of what he wanted to change. The things he hated most about himself.”  
  
“What?” Draco breathed. It was likely Potter was trying to change his soul in the hopes that would change his soulmate. Some of the fairy tales were about that, although usually it was a powerful magical creature uniting new soulmates with a wave of its paw, not a potion.  
  
“He wanted to change his magic. And the way he related to his wand.”  
  
Draco fell back in his chair, staring, thwarted again. What did _that_ mean? What in the hell did Potter think he was doing? His soul-mark by itself would tell him nothing about his soulmate’s magic; knowing who it was still wouldn’t let him know exactly how they related to their power, or how it was similar to the way Potter wielded his.  
  
This was the strangest case Draco had ever _heard_ of.  
  
And he doubted it was going to get more normal, the rate things were going. He shook his head and focused on Granger again. “Did he tell you why?”  
  
“No.” Granger looked weary suddenly. “Do you think I would have let this charade continue if I knew where he was? And if he’d told me anything about why he wanted to change his magic, then I would have been able to find him.”  
  
Draco leaned slowly back and watched her a second. Granger looked even more tired. She picked a blueberry out of her salad on her fork and ate it without looking away from Draco.  
  
“I think you would have tried anything to find him,” Draco said finally, nodding.  
  
“Of course, Malf—”  
  
“Unless he told you to keep it secret. Or unless he told you not to look for him.” Draco leaned forwards, aware that Weasley had stopped munching his crisps, even though Granger’s hand went on steadily poking the fork down into the berries. That was a small salve to Draco’s wounded pride, that Weasley wasn’t as good an actor as Granger. “Which one was it?”  
  
Granger sat still, and didn’t move. Her eyes met his in silent challenge. Draco knew he could use Legilimency, but then she would have a case against him for abuse of his powers. Every _single_ use of Legilimency had to be authorized by the Ministry, and Minister de Berenzan would never grant Draco permission for something like this.  
  
“It’s neither,” Granger whispered.  
  
“I think that Potter had compelling reasons for disappearing when he did,” Draco whispered back. “But I can’t know what they are, or know if I should arrest him or hunt him or leave him alone, if you don’t tell me more.”  
  
Granger exchanged another look with the silently watching Weasley. He apparently deferred to her, because Granger turned back to Draco and exhaled as if she was looking down a wand pressed to her throat.  
  
“Harry had been talking for a while about difficulties he’d had with his magic,” she began.  
  
Draco sat still, simply soaking in the information. This was new, not in any of the reports or files or interviews he’d read. This was wonderful.  
  
“He said that he would cast a spell and it would stop too quickly. Or it would keep going and break or repair or heal more objects than he meant to.” Granger frowned down at her salad. “I tried to help him diagnose it, but I couldn’t. I thought at the time that it was because it was a unique problem, maybe one related to him defeating Voldemort or having the Horcrux in him or any of those things. Now I think that Harry was hiding truths from me.”  
  
Some of Draco’s exaltation faded. He wouldn’t get _all_ the information he needed from her.  
  
 _What is wrong with you, Potter? What’s so disgraceful you had to conceal it from friends who were loyal to you through a war?_  
  
Granger went on. “I never did see the problem in action. He would work on spells in front of me, and he seemed as normal as ever. Ron didn’t see it, either.” Weasley simply shook his head. “But he kept saying he had the problem, that he had to change the way he reacted to his wand. He only laughed when I suggested he get a new wand, though.”  
  
Draco glanced once at his own hawthorn wand. Granger followed his eyes and read his thoughts, something that happened infrequently enough that Draco was impressed.  
  
“Yes, maybe it had something to do with the other wands he mastered. I don’t know.” Granger gave a windy sigh and rubbed at her face, finally abandoning her salad to stare at him. “But I don’t know why he would have lied about any of that. I don’t know why he would have vanished after he saw his birth record. I can’t tell you more than I already have, Malfoy, because _I don’t know_.”  
  
Draco nodded. He wanted to say that she had already told him more than he’d guessed, more than he knew. But there was no point in contending with her when she had helped him.  
  
He stood up and nodded in turn to Weasley. “I think I might have a lead on Potter,” he said. “Thank you for speaking with me.”  
  
“What lead?” Granger asked.  
  
“More than half intuition at the moment,” Draco said with a little shake of his head, meeting her eyes squarely. “I wouldn’t want to tell you and give you false hope for what might not turn out to be right after all.”  
  
A second passed before Granger nodded, but she did nod. At least she most likely knew the reason behind what Draco said, quite beyond the normal prohibition on talking about in-progress cases too openly with non-Aurors. What she and Weasley didn’t know, the Minister couldn’t force them to reveal.   
  
Draco glided out of the pub and stood for a moment in the street, considering. He told himself he didn’t know much more than before, that this might be only another lie Potter had laid to deceive someone who tried to follow his trail, or that problems with his magic might have nothing to do with problems with his soulmate.  
  
But the pulsing, pounding excitement in his own blood told him otherwise. He _did_ think he had the answer.  
  
 _A soul-mark shaped like a lightning bolt. Trouble with his magic that only started to show up a while after the war. All those fairy tales and the willingness to use the Dark Arts, and the ritual, and the earth magic that might let him change his soulmate._  
  
Draco did think, now, that Potter’s soulmate had been the Dark Lord. And he would find some way to make sure of his instinct before he took Potter in.  
  
 _I very much want to hear what he has to say for himself._  
  



	5. Dragon of the Night Winds

Draco sat before the fire until he thought his mind soothed enough to begin the ritual. Then he turned to the tools set up in front of him, all of them in small braziers filled with silver sand. The silver sand had been through fire and water both, to disenchant it. The only elemental power Draco wouldn’t be using in this ritual was earth magic. It would have masked his sense of Potter’s presence.  
  
His _possible_ sense of Potter’s presence.  
  
Draco grimaced a little in response to his own thoughts. But he could not keep leaping from one site to another, and now that he had some concrete thoughts on who Potter’s soulmate might be—or might have been—he had a way to track him.  
  
Draco reached out first, and touched the brazier full of live coals. When he puffed on them, fire started up. The flames in his hearth swayed back and forth as if in acknowledgment and welcome. Draco cast a spell that sheathed his fingers in a shimmering red-and-gold glove, and then he reached out and into the coals before he could think better of it.  
  
His magic had protected him, as he had thought it would. He couldn’t feel the heat, and he cradled the coals in his palm and blew on them again. They flared, absorbing his breath. Draco turned and tossed them into the brazier full of water.  
  
The steam that rose, hissing and a purer, hotter white than it should have been, was easy enough to capture. Draco swirled his wand, and the steam danced towards him and into the small box of air in front of him he created to hold it.   
  
This part was trickier, and required more magic. Draco leaned back far enough to cast the Dragonsbreath Curse on himself without disturbing the steam. Then he leaned forwards, using a wordless spell to dissipate the box that contained the steam and breathing out in the same moment.  
  
Fire tore through the steam, making it tumble and roil, filling it with blue and orange blazes. For a moment, Draco could see something waiting on the other side of it, something with a huge, intelligent red eye that looked at him patiently.  
  
Then the vision was gone, the fire fading, and Draco funneled the steam with another wordless spell into the brazier full of a tiny Wind Charm, which caused the air above it to constantly move. Moving air had magical properties of its own if one paid the proper respect to it, much the way running water did.  
  
The steam passed through the air and began to break apart, tossed by the Wind Charm. Draco hastily floated up the brazier of pure water and upended it, passing the makeshift raindrops through the air that way. At the exact same time, he breathed again, and fire passed through the same space occupied by air and water. The flare of elemental magic was strong enough to sting Draco’s eyes.  
  
This time, the light didn’t simply flare and fade, the way it had with the steam. Instead, it gathered in one place, building on itself, piling up like small stones dropped onto a cairn. Draco thought of Carn Gluze and hoped this was a good sign, even though he hadn’t actually used any earth magic in this ritual.  
  
The piling finally stopped. A small, bright red sphere floated in the air. It drifted towards Draco, and he nodded a little when he saw one golden eye looking out from the center of it. This was the elemental creature he had hoped to create with the ritual.  
  
“Ready?” he asked the golden eye.  
  
The eye blinked once. Then the sphere came to a stop in front of Draco’s right shoulder. He had to pay one more price, this one of pain, to send it on its way.  
  
Draco grimaced and brought his hand up in a smooth arc, pressing his palm against the crimson sphere.  
  
Skin sizzled as he pressed it flat, and he bit his lip to keep from shrieking. The sphere blazed brighter, and the golden eye became a pair of them. Stubby wings chopped out from the sides of the sphere, and then what might have been a tiny dragon hovered there, neck turned a little.  
  
“Go find Harry Potter!” Draco gasped, with the last of his voice that wasn’t a scream, and pushed at the sphere.  
  
The dragon crashed through the glass of the window, it was flying so fast. Draco leaned over to watch its flight path, and sighed when he saw that it was safely on its way, soaring straight for the horizon.  
  
Then he cast a _Reparo_ on the window and went over to plunge his hand in the sink under cold water. When he thought it had chilled long enough, Draco took his hand out and Summoned a flask of burn paste to rub on it.  
  
Meanwhile, his mind jumped along the path of the dragon, which would be attracted to both the name Draco had uttered and a strong concentration of earth magic, the one element missing from its makeup. Perhaps it would have been enough to send it seeking only one of those things, but Draco wasn’t going to take a chance. It was just as likely to come back with an image of something at Stonehenge, and no Potter there.  
  
The burn paste helped. Draco cast a Catnap Charm on himself, which would allow him fifteen minutes of deep, instant slumber and then wake him up; it was the best way to get some rest while not missing the arrival of the dragon when it came.  
  
*  
  
As it was, he used the charm ten times before he opened his eyes to find the little golden-eyed dragon floating in front of him, and he thought for a moment that his spell had failed.  
  
But then he saw the eyes that opened wide and beamed the vision at him, shining in the darkness like a Muggle light display, and he caught his breath and bent close.  
  
It was Stonehenge after all. Draco felt that vein on the side of his head that Mother had always said betrayed him beginning to twitch. Had some group decided to perform a powerful earth magic ritual there, this night of all nights, and accidentally messed up his spell?  
  
But in a few seconds, he saw it wasn’t so. There was the image of Stonehenge, but the image of Potter moved through it.  
  
Potter had shaggy hair, as though he’d been gone much longer than the Ministry’s official count of time, or trimmed it short with a sharp knife and not much skill. He studied the ground in front of him, and then knelt. There was a knife in one hand—maybe the one he’d used to cut his hair, Draco thought. Potter placed it in front of him and closed his eyes.  
  
A swirl of dirt and small pebbles rose up in answer. Potter directed it back and forth, his eyes still shut. Draco shook his head. Wasn’t he interested in seeing where his little experimental results ended up?  
  
Then he noticed something he hadn’t consciously before, and sat up. The only guide the whirlwind had was Potter’s hand.  
  
His wand was nowhere in sight.  
  
 _So Granger was right about him having some sort of problem with his wand,_ Draco thought, and nipped his lip in excitement. He was glad now that he hadn’t tried tracking Potter by his wand, a method that was finicky anyway. He stared as Potter settled the dirt and stones from the whirlwind on top of what might be the very same mound Draco had found there before, and then picked up the stone knife again.  
  
Draco squinted, and the image the dragon carried sharpened obligingly. No, he’d been fooled by the low light and maybe the poor quality of the image. Potter didn’t have a knife at all, but one of those strange flaked stones Draco had found making the runes at Carn Gluze.  
  
Potter spoke, but the image had no sound and the shapes of the words on his lips didn’t look familiar. Draco supposed they weren’t a spell, though; he’d taught himself to recognize the look of the more common incantations from a distance. It was one reason he was still alive when so many of the Ministry’s Aurors weren’t.   
  
Nor did the spells, if that was what they were, seem to have any effect. Potter laid the flaked stone down finally and crouched on his heels with his head hanging. Perhaps it was a ritual, and it had taken a lot out of him.  
  
Draco waited, tense. If Potter Apparated, then Draco would have to go back to Stonehenge and try tracking him by his magical signature again.  
  
But Potter stood and moved over to another part of the inner circle of stones, before crouching. He had a second flaked stone in his hand, and began to cut a rune into the dirt in front of him.  
  
“He’s still there?” Draco breathed. The dragon bobbed in response, although it wasn’t fully capable of understanding all the nuances of the question.  
  
Draco didn’t wait. He sent the dragon back to the brazier, where it would stay as a blob of fiery light until the next sunset if he had need of it again, and then he spent a moment making sure he had a few tricks along that might make the difference in a battle between him and Potter.  
  
And then, _then,_ he stepped out of the house and Apparated to Stonehenge.  
  
He knew he was smiling as he did it. He always smiled that way when he was about to bring the hunt to a successful conclusion.  
  
*  
  
When he came out of the Apparition, Draco could feel the power humming in the air.  
  
It was earth magic, of course, because he could feel the thrum beneath his feet even more than in the air; the stuff in the air was only the usual residue of a ritual. But he hadn’t thought Potter would manage to raise this much with a few simple stones and a rune, and he had to admit, as he moved softly through the shadows, to a reluctant awe.  
  
He dismissed the awe a second later. He couldn’t let inappropriate emotional reactions influence this capture.  
  
The limited amount of Auror training Potter had had didn’t include any special courses to develop his senses, from what Draco had heard. That meant Draco should be able to get as close as he wanted before Potter heard him and whirled around.  
  
And yet, that didn’t happen. He didn’t step on anything; he moved through the shadows _like_ a shadow. But Draco saw Potter turn ahead of him and crouch down anyway, and a flare of light came from the mound of disturbed dirt at his feet.  
  
“Who’s there? I know you’re a wizard, not a Muggle.”  
  
If Potter was desperately on the run, as his hair proclaimed, he didn’t sound like it. Draco paused, and revised his strategy. He had wanted to question Potter anyway before he took him into the Ministry, hadn’t he? And he wanted to learn what Potter thought he was doing with the earth magic, and whether Draco’s guess about the Dark Lord being his soulmate was right.  
  
Draco stood up and moved into the edge of the circle of light that the small thing—not a fire, it was too white and still—at Potter’s feet cast.  
  
Potter watched him with a wild animal’s wariness, even though Draco was sure the git had recognized him. Then he shook his head and said, “The Ministry would send an Auror after me, of course. As though I’d done something wrong.”  
  
Draco raised an eyebrow. Outraged innocence, not an unexpected tactic for Potter to take, but one that Draco found intriguing anyway. He couldn’t have expected to fool an Auror as experienced as Draco. “Those Dark Arts texts in your flat were illegal to possess, you know that. And that ritual you performed to burn away your soul-mark is on the edge of the law if not actually over it.” It seemed that the Wizengamot argued the illegality of such rituals constantly, as some wealthy pure-bloods wanted to either bind good soulmates to their heirs or give those heirs the ability to get rid of unworthy ones.  
  
A hard grunt left Potter. Draco could have hit him in the solar plexus and produced much the same reaction, he thought. Draco frowned a little in disappointment. Potter had expected Draco not to notice the ritual?   
  
“Then—you don’t know—they think—” Potter broke off his speech. His face twitched and roiled as though he had a lot of strong emotions right under the surface.   
  
Draco considered those emotions a waste if they weren’t shared with him. Irritating Potter used to be a way to do that, so he said in a slow drawl, “You left blazing signs for someone with the ability to see them, Potter. Your soulmate was the Dark Lord, right? And you want to be rid of every tie that bound you to him?”  
  
He made the question swift as an arrow to the heart, so Potter would be more likely to confirm it one way or the other. Either an attack or a dropped jaw would be things Draco could take as proof.  
  
What he _hadn’t_ expected was for Potter to sit down in the middle of the little circle of scraped dirt and start laughing.  
  
Draco had the childish urge to stomp his foot and demand to know what Potter was doing. Since he didn’t know he could only stare, silently, and Potter finally sat up and wiped at the tears on his face.  
  
“You don’t know,” Potter said. “You knew it had something to do with soulmates, and you saw the ritual, and you know I was looking into the Dark Arts and earth magic, and you must have performed some pretty impressive magic yourself to find me here, and—you don’t _know_.” He chuckled one more time and fell on his back, staring up at the moon. “I’m so surprised I don’t know if I can move.”  
  
If _Potter_ couldn’t, that was no barrier to Draco’s movements. He calculated angle and distance for a moment, and then tried to leap forwards. He could subdue Potter with magic, of course, but his outraged feelings really wanted a wrestling contest.  
  
He stumbled hard and felt as if he’d bruised his nose against something, and Potter sat up and blinked at him in surprise.  
  
Then he chuckled again. Draco was starting to hate the sound. “Didn’t perform impressive enough magic to realize that this ritual raises a barrier against anyone who tries to cross? Well, it does.”  
  
Draco stood up and circled the perimeter of the space without answering Potter. He hadn’t recognized it, no, but he _should_ have recognized the soft gestures and muttered words that were sufficient to enact a barrier. Earth magic was out of his area of expertise, but certain rituals had certain components in common. This one could not be unique.  
  
There was no circle in the earth around Potter. There weren’t even flaked stones or runes to make one. Potter stood on what had looked like ordinary ground to Draco, not different from the protected ground around him, until Draco had actually tried to cross whatever invisible line there was.  
  
Draco looked back at Potter. Potter was clamping his lip between his teeth, but his eyes twinkled anyway.  
  
Draco didn’t want that to happen. He slowed his breathing deliberately and murmured, “It is impressive enough on its own, but I didn’t see you using a wand, either.”  
  
The gates of Potter’s face slammed shut, and suddenly Draco couldn’t tell what emotion was on his face, which was a little alarming. He bent over and gathered his flaked stone from the ground, saying simply, “That shouldn’t be a surprise to you if you had _any_ idea what was going on.”  
  
Draco decided to change tactics. “The Minister’s barring me from finding out,” he said, and saw Potter’s hand freeze on the stone. “He won’t give anyone access to your birth records, even though they’re saying you ran away after reading them. If you think you suffered injustice, tell me. I’d be a more powerful advocate for you than your friends would.”  
  
Potter stared at him in silence. He then looked around as if he thought Draco had reinforcements who would show up from nowhere. Draco held his peace as best he could. He was beginning to get a little impatient with Potter’s antics, honestly. He acted as though someone was trying to trap him.  
  
Finally Potter said, “I think you’ve entirely misunderstood. I’m not coming back.”  
  
“Well, yes, I know when you thought the Ministry was going to arrest you, you ran, but—”  
  
“I mean, not at all. I’m learning earth magic because I’ll have to learn how to take care of myself in wild places, away from civilization. Well, civilization as wizards understand it. I would just have moved to the Muggle world, but there’s too much chance that a Muggleborn or an Obliviator would recognize me.”  
  
Draco felt his lip curl a little. He hadn’t expected this kind of melodramatic declaration from someone who had planned as well as Potter had, and had apparently solved a conundrum as old as magical theory. “You’re kidding, right? The Ministry would find you. Better me than someone else.”  
  
Potter sighed a little. “No. There’s no way I can just go back to being one of the normal people.”  
  
 _Yes, definitely melodrama._ “It’s all right if you haven’t married your soulmate, Potter. It’s much less common than your Gryffindors might have made you think—”  
  
“Have you ever thought about what having a soul-mark implies?”  
  
Draco blinked. “It implies you have a soulmate,” he said. “Nothing else. For Merlin’s sake, Potter, mine’s _half a flower_. Do you think that means my personality is soft, or yielding, or _pretty_? The shape of your soul-mark says nothing about you as a person.”  
  
Potter gave him a bitter smile. “You haven’t thought it through,” he said. “And as for your offer, it would be tempting if things were completely different. Good-bye, Malfoy.”  
  
Draco whipped his wand up. He was faster than almost all the Aurors he practiced with, and certainly faster than someone who had only completed a few classes—  
  
But not faster than Potter, who bent over the white light and spoke a word to it. The earth rose up around him in a silent funnel, and pulled him under. Draco’s spell sped through empty air.  
  
Draco stared at the place where Potter had been in silent rage, and then spun on his heel. The dragon would stay with him for most of another day. He would use it to find Potter again.  
  
And then he would end this _frustrating_ hunt.  
  



	6. Sliding Around the Edges

Draco sighed as he stepped into the Minister’s office. “Is this going to take long, sir?” he asked. “Only I think I have a new lead on Potter, and I want to be sure I can pursue it before his magical signature disappears.”  
  
de Berenzan leaned forwards, his face twitching. “I want to know, Malfoy, if you asked to see Potter’s birth records.”  
  
Draco blinked. “No, sir. I haven’t been down to bother the archivists again since that day when you made me understand that I did not have the right to see them.”  
  
“Don’t talk to me of rights. If you knew what was in them, you wouldn’t talk to me of _rights_.”  
  
That was odd, but Draco kept his expression at a pleasant, helpful, neutral level, and only said, “Well, sir, what happened was that I asked Weasley and Granger if they had any idea what was in Potter’s birth records that might have caused him to run away. I thought they might have gone and looked at them before they were sealed. But it turned out they hadn’t, and that was a useless lead.” Draco shrugged. “Too bad. I could have used that afternoon for other things.”  
  
The Minister sat there swearing to himself for a second, and then sat up and pointed a finger at Draco. “You will _cease_ your attempts to find out what is in those records. Do you understand, Auror Malfoy? I can, in fact, force you to leave them alone if you won’t do it of your own free will.”  
  
“I understand, sir,” said Draco. “If you’ll excuse me, I should pursue my lead.”  
  
“Not into the archives, I hope.”  
  
 _He really is obsessed with Potter’s birth records,_ Draco told himself as he bowed a little and made a joke in response, one so bland and reassuring that he didn’t even bother to remember it. _I wonder why? Of course he would have looked at them himself after Potter fled, but was there something in them to explain why Potter decided that he has to stay away from civilization?_  
  
The fact that he couldn’t imagine _what_ that information would be drove Draco even madder than before. Still, at least his ploy had worked. He’d spread the rumor that he’d questioned Weasley and Granger in detail about the birth records, and someone had carried it to de Berenzan, and he’d summoned Draco. Draco had engineered it just so that he could see what de Berenzan would say.  
  
 _Don’t talk to me of rights._  
  
An odd snippet, not what Draco had thought he would win at all, but at least it was _interesting_ , and he would meditate on it later. Right now, he really did have a lead he wanted to follow up.  
  
*  
  
Draco sighed and leaned back against the wall of Potter’s flat. He had thought the trace of Potter’s magical signature that he’d taken from his own clothes when he got back home after the encounter at Stonehenge might lead him somewhere. But it had only taken him back here. Apparently the traces he’d picked up by handling Potter’s candles and books and recreating the vision of the ritual were enough to overpower the faint ones he’d got simply being near Potter.  
  
 _I’ve never seen anything like those flaked stones he was working with. Maybe I should work on them?_  
  
But in the end, Draco shook his head. At home, still floating above the brazier he’d used to create it, was the dragon. Draco was going to let it hunt Potter again this afternoon, and this time, he would go even more prepared than he had. And it wouldn’t take any extra objects or new spells.  
  
Potter had set himself up to melodramatically forsake the wizarding world. Draco was experienced with melodrama from Slytherin, although this particular proclamation was new. And he knew what most irritated the purveyors of it.  
  
Listen to them, appear to take them seriously, and let them build up a huge stage on which they could stand ranting to the heavens above everyone else…  
  
And then tug out the poles of the stage from beneath them.  
  
*  
  
This time, the dragon came back quickly. Draco nearly lost control of his breathing when he summoned the image from it and found that Potter was in Knockturn Alley.  
  
 _Maybe that’s the source of the flaked stones,_ Draco thought, and studied the vision of Potter in a hooded green cloak bargaining with a hag for human teeth. _And what does he want with the teeth?_  
  
But in the end, all that mattered less to Draco than catching up to Potter. He couldn’t do _anything,_ ask questions or arrest him or find out what kind of earth magic he was practicing, until he reached him. So Draco stepped outside the flat and Apparated, staggering a little as the cobbles of the alley came up beneath him.  
  
He’d Transfigured his Auror robes into something less distracting to the neighbors before he went to visit Potter’s flat, luckily. As it was, Draco copied local custom by dragging his hood rapidly over his face, and then stepped forwards and reached out to touch Potter on the shoulder.  
  
“Excuse me,” he said in a suitably hoarse voice. “I might have something yer would be innerested in.”  
  
Potter moved fast, using his elbow to knock Draco out of breath and off-balance, and then he did something with his hand—maybe he’d had some Wheezes in it—that made the ground in front of Draco leap up and blaze. Amid displeased shouts from some of the shopkeepers, Potter ran straight for the entrance of the alley.  
  
Draco followed him in silence. No matter what he wanted to do, he had to keep Potter in sight and decide how he would handle him in order to do it.  
  
Potter dodged and rolled neatly around more hags with trays around their necks and a half-goblin ladling foul-smelling grey stew out of a large and dirty cauldron. Then he leaped over a table crowded with skull-like fruit and rolled under the Stunner that Draco tried to cast after him.  
  
By now, people were getting together to try and interrupt the pursuit or join in or catch Draco in turn and ask him questions, and Draco didn’t want to give them the chance. He bounded straight up, using the Mercury Charm again, and flew over their heads and towards the entrance of Knockturn Alley. He would arrive there before Potter, or at least he should if Potter didn’t Apparate—  
  
But Potter hadn’t Apparated so far and didn’t show any sign of doing it. Instead, he came to a stop and fumbled desperately in the pocket of his cloak for something.  
  
Draco lunged forwards, stretching out his arm as far as he could. He hooked the hood of Potter’s cloak, and he turned with a snarl, trying to shrug Draco off and hit his arm at the same time.  
  
But Draco clung anyway, and whatever Potter had been casting or reaching for took effect. The stone sucked them in, and they whirled through a series of temporary tunnels that seemed to close behind them as quickly as they had opened. Draco gasped and coughed as dirt spilled into his lungs, and then closed his mouth and concentrated on keeping his grip on Potter. Potter was still lunging and slipping like a gaffed fish.  
  
The tunnels finally spat them out on a high cliff Draco didn’t recognize, save that it was none of the previous sites he had found Potter’s earth magic at. Draco was a little dazed, but got his feet under him and drew his wand as Potter turned around to face him, hand cocked.   
  
Draco expected a Stunner like the one he’d tried to cast, but instead there was a spray of stones. It took a lot more concentration to dodge them than Draco had thought, although he cursed and leaped and rolled in several directions. By the time he stood upright again, Potter had vanished into a cave at his back.  
  
Luckily for Draco, he couldn’t go far or fast with Draco so close behind him. Draco rushed into the cave, too, keeping a sharp eye on the floor for trapdoors, a sharp eye on the ceiling for rocks poised to drop on his head.  
  
Nothing like that happened, but a stone wall appeared in front of him, sealing the throat of the cave. Then it glided towards him, urging Draco back towards the entrance. Draco experienced a flicker of relief that Potter hadn’t tried to seal the entrance, and then a sharp and violent disgust at himself.   
  
He wanted to _pursue_ Potter, not leave him behind. And he was never grateful for an enemy’s actions. That would have made him as weak as Potter in his melodrama.  
  
He aimed his wand at the stone beneath the wall and spoke another of those incantations the Auror Department would be shocked he knew. The floor writhed in response, jerking so hard that Draco had to look away as he would from a transforming werewolf.  
  
When he could look again, the pit had swallowed the stone wall. Draco smiled and stepped forwards.  
  
The roof of the cavern immediately sloped down, in a way that clamped like the bite of a giant mouth and would have caught Draco if he hadn’t jumped back. Draco swore and juggled his wand for another spell, his mouth blazing with impatience. What was Potter _doing?_  
  
 _Trying to keep you out._  
  
Draco scowled at himself for the stupid thought, and aimed his wand at the place where the roof actually touched the floor of the tunnel, hissing, “ _Expulso_.”  
  
The modified Explosion Charm leaped away from his wand, turning for a moment like a firework in midair, and then hit the joining of roof and tunnel. The stone exploded into numerous shards. Draco had raised a Shield Charm to counter them just in time.  
  
He didn’t wait around for Potter to evoke more ridiculous defenses. He charged down the tunnel instead, avoiding the way the walls tried to literally bite him with teeth that resembled sideways stalactites.  
  
The tunnel deepened and widened at the same time, and a hole opened directly in front of Draco. He leaped over it, noting that it didn’t look as though it was deep. That reassured him Potter didn’t want to kill him.  
  
He was being _annoying_ , though. Draco had done worse things to people he found annoying than trap them in holes.  
  
Another blind corner, and something roared with the sound of stone clashing. Draco whirled another shield into place above him, one that he could bind to his arm with strips of magic, and the blow that came down slammed into it, numbing his arm for a second before Draco shook the effect off.  
  
He nodded when he saw what was in front of him, the creature he had suspected and raised the shield above his head to avoid. It was a stone giant, blocky chunks carved from the cave and bound with spells that made it utterly loyal to its creator. It pivoted to face him, slow and with glowing eyes that Draco suspected were actually pools of magma rather than the rubies that most spells like this used. He smiled a little, reluctantly impressed. It took a lot of skill to wield magma like that, since it technically fell between poles of elemental magic, being both fire and earth.  
  
The giant moved to the side with a lumbering motion. Draco eyed the tunnel behind it. The best course would be to dodge past it instead of trying to destroy it. He wasn’t entirely sure that would work anyway, as heavy as it was.  
  
But the giant didn’t intend to give him the chance. It lashed out with an arm that had a doubled fist carved at the end of it, like a huge mace. Draco leaped out of the way, and winced as he heard it knock a hole in the stone behind him.  
  
He couldn’t defeat it by simply dodging forever, of course. For one thing, it blocked the entrance behind it with one leg. Draco couldn’t run at it and hope to cast spells that would break it down over time, either. That was the sort of thing that would take expert earth magic, and Draco didn’t lie to himself about what he had mastered.  
  
 _A ritual would be the thing, if I had the time…_  
  
Another fist came hammering at him. Draco bounced it off another Shield Charm, but this made him breathless with pain. Maybe Potter wouldn’t mind killing him, after all, if it would get Draco off his trail.  
  
Draco did have one tactic he could choose, though, and he waited until the giant had drawn back both hands to hit him and its leg blocking the tunnel had shifted a little. Then Draco held up his wand and cast the incantation for Fiendfyre.  
  
The shapes that boiled out of his wand were lions for only a moment; then they grew wings and turned into grinning chimera, or sprouted snakes and were hydras. Both were good choices for going up against something like the earth giant, and Draco watched with approval as they grew even hotter, burning the stone.  
  
The giant tried to brush them off, but its hands slid through the flames without hurting them, and soon it began to roar in pain. Draco watched as the stone boiled and melted away, leaving only the magma eyes. And _they_ fell to the floor and couldn’t hurt him, only glare impotently as Draco banished the Fiendfyre with another incantation he wasn’t supposed to know and walked down the tunnel.  
  
This one bent in several directions before starting to look as though it was made of smoothed stone. Draco nodded. He thought he was probably past the worst of Potter’s traps. He would find the heart of his sanctuary soon.  
  
As he walked, he had to shake his head a little at the extent to which the tunnel had been carved and worked. It seemed Potter had been planning this for a long time, which only made the abrupt way he had left the wizarding world stranger.  
  
 _Or maybe he’s just learned enough elemental magic to make this_ look _professional, whether or not it really is._  
  
The tunnel came to an end at a lip beyond which dark lay. Draco paused. He didn’t want to light his wand and reveal to Potter exactly where he was, but he didn’t fancy stepping off into the darkness where anything could lurk, either.  
  
Then a faint glow sprang up in front of him. Draco started, wondering why he hadn’t heard a voice speak the incantation, and then remembered Potter’s problems with his wand.  
  
Sure enough, there wasn’t a lit wand in front of him. Instead, there was a large, mostly empty cavern with boulders piled around the walls, and they were the things glowing with a steady yellow light that brightened as Draco watched. The center of the cavern seemed to ripple, and Draco looked down at it. It wasn’t empty after all, but an underground lake.  
  
“What do you want, Malfoy?”  
  
Potter’s voice was tired, and seemed to echo from several different directions. Draco kept his hand away from his wand, or at least only his fingertips on it. Without knowing exactly where Potter was, he was at a disadvantage.  
  
“To question you before I take you in to the Ministry.”  
  
Potter laughed, and Draco listened carefully. But even that failed to track the echoes to exactly where they should lead from. They seemed to die out evenly, more like water rippling back from the fall of a stone than natural sound.  
  
“Do you know what’ll happen if you take me in to the Ministry?”  
  
“Better than you, I should imagine,” Draco said, and he thought he was probably allowing some of his contempt for people who started Auror training and didn’t finish it show in his voice. “You’ll be put in a holding cell. Other Aurors will visit you to question you and make sure you didn’t enchant me, or that personal emotions didn’t influence me into arresting you. There will be an appearance before an interrogator, and—”  
  
“No, Malfoy. They’ll execute me.”  
  
Draco halted. It was unexpected enough that he thought it deserved the compliment of his silence, although he didn’t believe Potter for a moment. “Why would they?” he finally asked. “The Minister barely wants me to pursue you, because hunting the great hero is bad press for the Ministry. What would _execution_ do?”  
  
The light shifted, and Potter walked from behind one of the glowing stones. Draco drew his wand at once, but Potter barely looked at him, which was the most insulting thing he had ever done. He cast himself down on the floor instead and stared up at the ceiling of the cavern, shaking his head a little.   
  
“Minister de Berenzan wants me gone and wants me not to reveal what’s in my birth records at the same time,” Potter said. “I think he would have been happy to let me just leave, but he can’t do that, because it would look strange for the Ministry not to mount some kind of search. Then they found the Dark Arts books, and that complicates his strategy further. Because now it’s a hunt to arrest me, and if I come back to the Ministry, there’s the chance the truth might come out under Veritaserum.” He rolled over and looked at Draco without much interest. “So he had to send you, the Auror with the best reputation for finding missing people, and hope at one and the same time that you find me—for the Ministry’s reputation—and that you don’t—so he can ignore the problem I represent and the consequences if it becomes public.” He chuckled a little, mostly to himself, Draco thought. He ignored Draco again. “I bet he _hates_ that.”  
  
Draco wanted to shake him. He restrained himself, although it was difficult. “I agree that the Minister is jealous,” he said. “But of me, not you.”  
  
Potter looked at him with raised eyebrows. “It’s not any personal attribute he’s jealous of when it comes to me. In fact, I don’t know if I would describe it as jealousy. He’s wary of the truth destabilizing his regime. I probably should have taken the deal he was offering.” Then Potter sighed. “But then it would have come out that I can’t do wand magic anymore. So I don’t know.”  
  
Draco stared at him. “You _can’t_ do wand magic?”  
  
“Of course not.”  
  
Draco shook his head. “I don’t know why you think I would already know that.”  
  
“Because of my soul-mark.” Potter stared at him. “Wait—you have _no_ idea?”  
  
“I already told you I didn’t, last time we met.”  
  
Potter snorted. “Then I suppose I might as well not tell you. It would only upset you the way de Berenzan’s afraid of—”  
  
Draco drew his wand and bound Potter with a wordless _Incarcerous_. Then he leaned back and said, “I’m not letting you go until you tell me.”  
  
Potter raised his eyebrows again. A fist of stone shifted out of the floor and clamped around Draco’s leg. Draco tried instinctively to pull against it, and found it as motionless as a mountain.  
  
“I think,” Potter said, “that this is what a Muggle dictionary would define as an _impasse_.”


	7. After the Impasse

Potter, infuriatingly, kept silent after his stupid dictionary definition, and seemed content to lie in the ropes. Draco strained against the grip of the hand that held him, tried what few earth spells he could remember to make it go back into the stone, and severed a few of the fingers with Severing Curses. Since the stump immediately grew other fingers that clenched even higher on his leg, that left him worse off than before.  
  
“You can’t get out of the ropes without me,” Draco finally told Potter.  
  
Potter seemed to wake up, or come out of some kind of meditative trance, blinking at him. “Oh, right, you’re still here,” he said. “I was talking to the stones. I forgot.” He sat up, shifting around, and whistled once, the kind of whistle Draco would have used to call a Crup.  
  
One of the more triangular stones that lay along the walls of the cavern came tumbling over to him. Potter held out the ropes, and the edges of the stone cut through the ropes. Potter stood up and stretched, then turned to Draco with a faint smile.  
  
“One of the advantages of not using wand magic. It’s easier to counter the spells cast with it if you have elemental forces at your command.” He cocked his head as if listening—to rocks, Draco supposed—and then nodded. “I’ll be sending you back to the entrance of the cave now.”  
  
The hand holding Draco began to move, cutting through the stone as if it was moving through water. Draco stumbled, and cursed, and yelled back as loudly as he could, “I’ll accuse your friends of helping you escape!”  
  
The hand paused.  
  
“You’re despicable,” Potter said softly, coming towards him. His gait was odd, and Draco’s back prickled when he noticed a second later that Potter’s feet were buried in the stone, like the hand he’d conjured. He was running along as if carried on invisible skates. “And you’re the Ministry’s best Auror? I suppose they judge competence only on number of arrests and power of magic, not on whether you’re upholding principles.” He gave an ugly laugh. “Thank Merlin I didn’t stay with _them_.”  
  
“I’m not above using blackmail when I need to,” Draco corrected. He sat up in the grip of the stone hand and smiled at Potter. He knew he was going to get his way, so he could afford a smile or two. “And I’m one of the most effective Aurors for it. The others wish they knew what I know.”  
  
“Probably not, given some of the magic that you used to get in here. That kind of Dark Arts corrupts someone’s mind and soul.”  
  
He spoke the words so simply that he gave Draco pause. They were the last ones he would have expected to hear from a man who’d collected Dark Arts books for months and acted as if he was prepared to use rituals to burn away his soul-mark. Draco shook his head. “You believe that?”  
  
“Yes, of course.”  
  
 _This isn’t a simple case at all._ Draco didn’t know if he wanted to laugh, or snarl in frustration. In the end, he decided that he wanted to keep questioning Potter. “But you used Dark Arts yourself.”  
  
“All of this is elemental magic, not Dark Arts,” said Potter, and cocked his head at the hand that held Draco, and the stone behind him, and even the lake in the middle of the cavern, although as far as Draco knew, water and earth magic didn’t mix well. “I _planned_ when I decided I had to leave, Malfoy. I didn’t dash into it and then act proud because I was just so much smarter than anyone else. I know I’m not.”  
  
“You could convince me of that by telling me the truth.”  
  
“I don’t want to.”  
  
“Then your friends—”  
  
Potter cut him off with a growl that reminded Draco of the noise that the earth giant had made when he was confronting it out in the outer cave. “And the Minister would probably believe you, because he thinks me capable of anything,” Potter muttered. He pushed his fingers through his hair, glared once at Draco, and then said, “Leave me alone for a minute, Malfoy, so I can think.”  
  
Because it was more promising than anything else Potter had said so far, Draco obediently sat still and let Potter get on with the thinking, although it was a painful task to look at him. Potter leaned back and tapped his head on the wall and ruffled his hair again and sighed hard enough that Draco looked around for who else he was communicating with. Finally he turned around again.  
  
“Fine,” he said. “You’ve probably heard the rumors about my soul-mark being my scar, or being underneath my scar.”  
  
Draco nodded. He couldn’t see Potter’s scar well from this angle, and it would be obvious what he was looking at if he ducked his head, or he would have tried to see if it was true.  
  
“Well, that’s not entirely true.” Potter smiled without humor. “This lightning bolt isn’t my soul-mark. You have to be _born_ with that.” There was a harsh undertone to his voice. “Most people seem to forget that I was eighteen months old when Voldemort marked me.”  
  
“No one knows much about that night,” Draco felt justified in saying. “ _I_ thought that perhaps it meant the Dark Lord was your soulmate.”  
  
Potter widened his eyes and stared at him in silence for such a long time that Draco started to open his mouth, insulted. Then Potter abruptly collapsed forwards and began to roll on the floor, holding his sides.  
  
Draco’s first thought was some mysterious contact poison, then a fainting fit, than a curse that only got triggered when someone came near to guessing the truth about Potter’s soulmate. It seemed like the sort of curse de Berenzan would cast. But when Potter rolled back towards him, gasped, and then roared, Draco understood.  
  
Potter was consumed with hysterical laughter.  
  
Draco sat as still and as offended as possible. That often had an effect even on the hostesses who invited him to their parties because he was a “mysterious and awful Death Eater” and then got embarrassed when he wasn’t Dark in their presence at all.  
  
But it didn’t stop Potter’s laughter. He sat back up, shaking his head, and dashing off moisture from the corner of his eye. “If I’d known you thought like that,” he gasped, “I would have let you just go on thinking it. There’s no way you’re ever going to find the truth as long as you’re going through _that_ door. Me and Voldemort. Soulmates!” He fell into another fit of giggling.  
  
“It’s certainly true that I can’t imagine now how I thought that,” Draco said, austerely, coldly. “You are not a fit mate for his magnificence.”   
  
Potter snort-giggled. “Of course not. _I_ have a nose.”  
  
Draco drew in some of his emotions and folded them around him like dragon wings. Potter had always fought better on this ground of levity and irreverence. Draco had been stupid to forget. “There is still the matter of what your friends might tell me. Or the Minister, if I convinced him that they were involved.”  
  
Potter narrowed his eyes at him. “I deliberately told them nothing so that they couldn’t implicate themselves even under Veritaserum.”  
  
“But in cases where there’s a huge preponderance of evidence and the criminal would have no reason to want to indict himself, Veritaserum isn’t often used…”  
  
“Damn you, Malfoy!”  
  
Potter flung himself forwards and was suddenly right _there_ , in Draco’s face. He hadn’t been this close before, or it seemed like it, even when Draco was hanging onto him and being transported through the earth. He snarled at Draco, and Draco’s head snapped back. It was like being caught in a blast of dragonfire, the heady aftertaste of power that hung around him.  
  
 _Earth magic is like that,_ Draco argued feebly with himself. _You work with the same sort of power that causes earthquakes, and of course you’ll seem like you’re strong yourself._  
  
But his eyes never left Potter as the man stalked back and forth in front of him. He had always respected strong opponents. They were the only ones worth the risk of chasing down and capturing. A stupid opponent might kill you by accident, a weak one might manage to squirm out of the charges with a lot of money and whining, but a strong one would have plans that Draco could fight with his own and magic that was _worth_ contending with.  
  
“Fine,” Potter snapped finally. “But if you make a move towards my friends after this—because you’re disappointed with how prosaic the truth is, or whatever—then I’m going to have the earth under Malfoy Manor heave and crack open and just _disappear_ that bloody ostentatious house, got it?”  
  
Draco licked dry lips. Perhaps the threat would be more personally effective if Potter had said he would simply vanish _Draco_ , but maybe not. Draco cared a lot about his ancestral home for all that he didn’t spend much time there. “Agreed.”  
  
Potter nodded, and then turned and said something in a low voice Draco couldn’t hear to the triangular stone that had rolled up behind him to cut his ropes. It rolled over towards Draco and rooted itself firmly in the earth, tapping on the hand. The hand opened and retracted into the rock. Draco stretched, able to feel his legs again.  
  
“Why couldn’t you simply dismiss the hand the way you called it up?” he asked.  
  
Potter sighed and sat down on a boulder that was already in the right place. “Because I come near to getting magically exhausted,” he replied. “I accomplish a lot more with some gestures than I could with a single spell, but then I get a lot more tired from it, too.”  
  
“Tell me about it,” Draco commanded, stepping towards him. Potter flashed him a quick, wary glance, and Draco made himself hold still.  
  
But it was so _hard_. He was so _curious_.   
  
“You’ve heard rumors about my soul-mark, you said,” Potter muttered, looking up the tunnel. Draco sat down companionably on the boulder next to him. Potter, looking away, didn’t seem to notice how close he now was. “Well, the rumor you jumped to isn’t the right one.”  
  
It took a second for Draco to realize what he meant. “The scar altered your soul-mark?” he asked.  
  
Potter gave a bleak little smile. “The scar isn’t my soul-mark, right.” He reached up and rubbed at his scar for a second. “I had a part of Voldemort’s soul _attached_ to my soul. That’s going to screw up everything, right?” He laughed harshly. “You missed a nuance of the ritual that you found in my home, Malfoy. I wasn’t trying to call up my soul-mark so I could destroy it. I was looking into a hypothetical universe, at what my soul-mark _would_ have been if things hadn’t happened to screw it up. I hoped it would be the mark of someone I knew and I could see who I might have been matched to, if…” He trailed off and shook his head.  
  
Draco said nothing for a second. There was indeed a ritual that could do that, and enough like the one to burn a soul-mark that it would have been easy to for him to mistake one for the other.  
  
Well, also easy because the ritual Potter was talking about, the one that could peer across universes and fold time, took a _staggering_ amount of power, patience, and preparation. Draco was now ready to believe Potter could have the first one, but not the others.  
  
He realized Potter was looking at him, and felt a momentary blush crawl across his cheeks. “What?” he added. “What did I miss that you said?”  
  
“I said the mark that appeared wasn’t one I recognized, so that was useless.” Potter shrugged. “And as for the wand magic, were you aware that one’s wand is a reflection of one’s soul? With my soul-mark changed, my wand affinity changed. The only one that would let me use it now is the Elder Wand.”  
  
“Well, then,” said Draco, not understanding. Maybe the problems Granger had thought Potter had with his magic were the result of him trying to use the Elder Wand and not putting enough power behind it. Draco reckoned that the Elder Wand would demand a harder master than Potter. “Why don’t you just use that?”  
  
Potter turned such a look of loathing on him that Draco fell back before he thought about it, raising his wand. But Potter caught back his magic, or whatever words he was about to say, and sighed. “You wouldn’t understand,” he said. “The corruption I felt—the way that the soul of the wand reached for mine, and—it probably wouldn’t have mattered, but—”  
  
“Your friends, Potter, remember,” Draco said, speaking in as bored a tone as he dared. Potter was so _infuriating_. If Draco had managed to master the Elder Wand, he would have told _everybody_. Why would Potter want to hide something like that?  
  
“Yes, I know,” Potter whispered. “Anyway, I couldn’t stand the feeling when I used the Elder Wand. It was probably worse because of the way my soul-mark had—changed. So I started learning about elemental magic. You can use it without a wand. You can use it without knowing who your soulmate is.”  
  
“Or having one,” Draco said. “That’s what it is, isn’t it? You have no soulmate because the mark is too changed.”  
  
Potter looked away from him and sat still. Draco waited, but there was no change. Draco leaned forwards and rapped him sharply on the back of his head. Potter jumped.  
  
“What was that?” he asked, turning around and lifting his hand to touch the place Draco had tapped.  
  
Draco just barely kept from shaking his own head. How could someone who seemed so powerful and dangerous most of the time act like that now? “Because you stopped explaining. That’s what happened. You have no soul-mark because the Dark Lord changed you so much. And you turned to elemental magic.”  
  
“Yes.” Potter sighed and dragged his hand down his face.  
  
“Even that doesn’t make much sense,” Draco said. He was more interested in magical theory than Potter’s self-pity. “How can you use earth magic that moves runes around on the stones? What makes you able to use rocks that are normally indifferent to humans?”  
  
Potter smiled a little. “That I am surprised you didn’t figure out,” he said, which made Draco bristle. That implied all the other mysteries were _easy_ , and diminished Draco’s feats of understanding. But he continued, and Draco did have to listen. “The stones that I used to make the runes or create the spell effects are flaked stones. Made by humans. Ancient tools,” he added, as Draco stared at him in silence. “Before we learned to make tools out of metal or wood. Some ancient axes, knives, that kind of thing.”  
  
“I’ve never heard of them.”  
  
“You haven’t studied Muggle archaeology, then,” Potter said, as if it was something normal and wizards did that on a regular basis. “It took some doing to find those stones, since Muggles look for them all the time and haven’t found that many, but there’s a spell I modified to locate them.”  
  
“That resulted in you using the Elder Wand?”  
  
Potter’s face grew stubborn in that way which meant Draco had a point but he didn’t want to admit it. “Those stones are ancient, but also touched by humans,” he said. “Created human artifacts. That means I can use the powers of old rock and overcome that problem of old rocks mostly having no connection to humans.”  
  
Draco scowled. It was a clever solution, he had to admit, and also one that most magical theorists _wouldn’t_ have come up with, as they had no reason to think that Muggle artifacts were important. But he wanted to hit Potter for the smug smile he wore anyway.  
  
“Where did you get that idea?”  
  
“Books.”  
  
Draco rolled his eyes. If they were Muggle books, he probably wouldn’t want to read them. “Fine,” he said. “So you had the means of getting past the most common barriers on earth magic. That still doesn’t explain why you decided to run away from wizarding society to do this.”  
  
“How long before someone noticed that I wasn’t using wand spells anymore? Or even worse, figured out _why_ and came to challenge me and try to take away the Elder Wand?” Potter shrugged, his face seamed with pain Draco still thought was exaggerated. “I’ve had enough trouble in my life. It’s the same reason I quit Auror training. Being able to bring down Dark wizards isn’t worth it if they start hunting me, or other people duel me to prove they’re better.”  
  
That was an attitude so foreign to Draco that he sat there for a long moment contemplating it before he shook his head and moved on. “You still could have done something else. Gone into hiding in—”  
  
“All wizarding communities use wands,” Potter interrupted him. “A lot of them know my name. I don’t want questions. I want to live in peace.” He paused. “Would it make a difference to the charges you want to arrest me on if I told you who I acquired the Dark Arts books from?”  
  
“No.”  
  
Potter narrowed his eyes. “So, in other words, I might as well not have told you all this. You’re still going to try and arrest me and haul me back to the Ministry, and my friends will get hounded _anyway_ by members of the press or de Berenzan’s agents who’re convinced they know something.”  
  
Draco held up his hand. “I’m an Auror, Potter. I do thank you—” the words stuck on his lips, but he pushed them out “—for telling me all this. But you still committed a crime.”  
  
“Yes,” said Potter. “And I’m about to commit another one.”  
  
There was a bright glow around Draco in seconds, the boulder he was sitting on and the patch of earth it stood in all ringed in blue flame. Draco leaped to his feet, and then stopped. The flames weren’t actual fire, which would probably have required elemental magic Potter wasn’t a master of. Instead, they were fountains of dancing, tumbling, sharp-edged sapphires.  
  
“It’s annoying to have to abandon a place that was getting to be a home,” said Potter from beyond the fountains. “But these sapphires should keep you in place long enough for me to do what I have to do. And I wouldn’t suggest trying that spell you used to track me down again. Really, I wouldn’t.”  
  
“Why not?” Draco asked, more than half his attention on the sapphires. “It worked once before.”  
  
“And next time, there’s going to be an earthquake under _your_ house.”  
  
The sapphires began to rise, piling on each other, moving clacking rings of them that tumbled back and forth and altered in such unpredictable patterns that Draco couldn’t come up with a spell that would blast them apart. He was bracing himself to try anyway when they abruptly collapsed, the gems lying around in glittering patterns that were level with the earth and harmless.  
  
Potter was gone. A second later, the earth glinted under the sapphires and sucked them in, too.  
  
Draco stood up slowly, scowling.  
  
Not because he had lost Potter again, or because of Potter’s threats. Where Potter had left a weakness once, he would leave another one. And Draco didn’t think Potter would actually kill him.  
  
No, because he had realized that nothing Potter had told him—sensible though many of the explanations were—clearly outlined what was in his birth records to make de Berenzan fear him.


	8. What Earth Magic is Good For

“You seem to have taken a good time longer on this case than was called for, Auror Malfoy.”  
  
de Berenzan had summoned him as though he was any other Ministry lackey and now sat looking through the files in front of him, profile turned to Draco, instead of paying proper attention. Draco knew it was probably meant to make him burst out shouting, and give the Minister a reason to remove him from the case. After all, if Potter’s conclusions were true, de Berenzan would doubtless be happiest if Potter simply vanished, if the Ministry sent Aurors after him but they could be seen to have failed.  
  
Draco had no intention of fitting in with anyone’s plans but his own. He clasped his hands in front of him and adopted an earnest expression. “I know, and I can come to only one conclusion, Minister. Potter is receiving help from inside the Ministry.”  
  
de Berenzan choked and swung around. “What? Are you certain?”  
  
 _One point to Potter._ The sheer desperation on the Minister’s face was greater than if there was simply a possibility someone in the Ministry sympathized with Potter. Draco inclined his head and said, “I’m certain, yes. Potter had some warning that I was coming when I almost caught up with him. And he had _so many_ books in his flat. He’s never been a greatly bookish person, from the memories of his friends. Where did he get them? Where did he get the assistance to disappear right in front of a trained Auror? There had to be someone helping him.”  
  
“It could be someone outside the Ministry.”  
  
“But that would mean someone who has access to rare texts _and_ someone who has Auror training, and yet doesn’t work for us.” Draco shook his head soulfully. “I’m afraid the coincidence would be too great, Minister.”  
  
de Berenzan swung himself to his feet, his eyes narrowed and his leg bouncing for a moment. Then he muttered, “I think I know exactly who it is.”  
  
Draco let his eyes widen, but showed no other reaction. He had _hoped_ de Berenzan might have a specific target in mind he could chase after, but he hadn’t dared to count on it. “Oh, sir? Who?”  
  
The Minister gave him a look of loathing that he quickly masked. “Someone in the Unspeakables, Auror Malfoy. It makes sense, doesn’t it? They’re the ones most likely to have access to such books, and such means of covering up one’s tracks. But not your actual department, or they would have fed Potter more details about you and probably not let him get almost caught at all.”  
  
Draco smiled a little. He wished de Berenzan luck in getting anything out of the Department of Mysteries. “Then I don’t need to concern myself with it, sir?”  
  
“You need to make sure that nothing interferes with your case.”  
  
But de Berenzan spoke almost absently, his eyes on the Floo powder that he would probably throw into the fire to call the Department of Mysteries the minute Draco was out of the office. Draco stood, bowed, and backed towards the door. “Of course, Minister.”  
  
The instant before the door shut, Draco could hear the urgent sound of a Floo call, although to his regret he couldn’t make out the name de Berenzan shouted. It would have been worth a little, to know the person who served as liaison between the Minister and the Department of Mysteries.  
  
But not worth enough that he needed to lose sleep over it. Draco lengthened his stride. There were other avenues he could pursue, and he would go and ambush one of them right now.  
  
*  
  
“Now _there’s_ a sight I don’t see at my door every day.”  
  
Draco bowed a little, holding onto his temper. This particular Weasley wasn’t only a lot richer than the majority of his family, but liable to take a more terrible revenge if Draco provoked him. “I wanted to talk to you about Harry Potter.”  
  
George Weasley studied him in silence for a moment. Draco kept his eyes politely away from the missing ear and solely on his face. Even after this long, it was still a little shock to see only one face instead of two.  
  
“Yes, all right,” Weasley said abruptly, and backed away from the front door. Draco made his way through the shuttered shop, keeping a healthy distance from the shelves and racks that bore unexploded pranks. Weasley glanced at him with an evil grin, but mercifully said nothing about Draco’s attitude as he opened the door to the small room at the back. There was nothing in here but a table and chairs.  
  
Draco still didn’t suffer any temptation to be insolent. The long scars on the walls, as if lightning had struck here, didn’t encourage him to be _anything_ but polite. He sat down on the chair nearest the door and looked at Weasley.  
  
“I can’t tell you much more than my sister or my brother did,” Weasley said, leaning against the wall instead of sitting and putting his hands in his robe pockets. Draco stifled the temptation to leap to his feet and start checking the chair for traps. “But there’s one thing I know that they don’t.”  
  
“About Potter?” Draco made his voice calm, confident, comfortable. And didn’t feel under the chair. That was only _partially_ in fear of setting something off.  
  
“Yes.” Weasley shrugged. He wore his bright hair long enough that it crowded onto his shoulders. “He came to me one time and asked me about soulmates. I think he had that conversation with everyone sooner or later. But what he asked me was specifically what effect a missing soulmate would have on someone’s magic.”  
  
“A missing soulmate,” Draco repeated. Could Potter’s soulmate be one of those who had died before Potter could find them? But how would he _know_ that? It was rare to actually get confirmation, unless one read the reports sometimes produced by the Ministry about dead wizards that listed their marks.  
  
“Yes, he seemed to think his was missing.” Weasley shook his head. “But he wouldn’t tell me much more than that. I think he was embarrassed.”  
  
 _Yes, because he grew up around Gryffindors who think that you’re always supposed to marry your soulmate and live happily ever after._ But Draco held his tongue. He had to admit he was interested to see what Weasley would say next.  
  
“I told him I had no idea. Then he started asking me about other kinds of magic that could be performed without a wand. I told him about elemental magic, and he borrowed a few books from me and went away.”  
  
“Borrowed a few books from you?” Draco’s voice wavered up the scale before he could stop himself.  
  
Weasley laughed openly. “Not the Dark Arts tomes, if that’s what you mean. He bought those on his own.” A second later, Weasley’s laughter faded. “I don’t know what he thought he was doing. But I’m the one who taught him about the elements, and I know he settled on earth magic. I don’t know what he did after that, though.”  
  
“It never occurred to you to _ask_?”  
  
Weasley gave him an odd look. “No.”  
  
“Why not?” Draco couldn’t say he had a lot of close friends, but he would have asked after them if he did. And Potter had seemed closer to Weasley’s brothers than Draco had been to most people in his life.  
  
Weasley gave the wall a thoughtful glance. Draco held his tongue, since he thought Weasley was trying to figure out how to phrase something rather than intentionally denying him an answer.  
  
“Harry…” Weasley said slowly. “He’s one of the most purely _good_ people I’ve met.”  
  
Draco snorted. In his mind were the Dark Arts books on Potter’s shelves, and the frustrating way he kept his mouth shut, and the way he opposed Draco at every turn just for having allegiances he disapproved of.  
  
“You might not have had much opportunity to see it.” Weasley looked at Draco with a fund of amusement so great and dark that Draco didn’t recognize it at first; it looked like something more imposing. When he did recognize it, Draco flushed. “But that’s the way Harry is. He talked to me a few times about how he just wanted something for himself, something that wouldn’t belong to anyone else. If he finally found it, why would I question that?”  
  
“His other friends are worried about him.”  
  
“I would be, too, if there was any sign that someone had kidnapped him or taken him away against his will. But there was none of that.”  
  
“You’re not thinking that he could get into trouble because of the combination of Dark and elemental magic he’s practicing?”  
  
“You seem to have pretty certain knowledge already,” Weasley breathed, meeting and holding Draco’s eyes. “And _you_ don’t sound worried.”  
  
Draco stood up. He had intended to storm out if Weasley said something insulting, but this Weasley wasn’t like his brothers. He only stood still, poised to reach for his wand or, maybe more likely, launch a prank if Draco did something that bothered him, but he didn’t sound as though he cared all that much.  
  
Paradoxically, that made Draco want to appeal to him.   
  
“I have seen Potter,” Draco admitted. “He’s told me a little bit about the kind of magic that he’s practicing, and how he can do it.” He hesitated. “But he hasn’t told me _why_. Just that his wand stopped working. It’s something to do with his soul-mark. But…I don’t _know_ enough.”  
  
“Why should you need to know anymore?” Weasley shrugged, although at least there was a hint of emotion in his voice now. “He’s committed enough crimes to make you arrest him. Why do you need to know more than that? They’ll get it out of him in any interrogation you do.”  
  
“Because I’ve never heard of anything like this before, with soulmates and soul-marks affecting someone’s wand magic.” Draco met Weasley’s eyes, and sighed, and said, “I’m curious.”  
  
But it seemed that had been the wrong word to utter after all. Weasley stood straighter and gave Draco a smile that seemed kinder only on the surface. “Well, if you’re _curious,_ of course. You ought to have free passage to all of Harry’s secrets because you’re _curious_.”  
  
“Weasley—it could mean the difference between Potter running away for the rest of his life and being able to return to a normal kind of life in the wizarding world—”  
  
“Whatever else I don’t know about Harry,” Weasley said, and cast a spell that funneled dust from the floor up into a wall that steadily and slowly advanced to meet Draco, “I know that he never intended to return to the wizarding world. Any threats you can make aren’t going to change a thing for him.” He moved his wand, and the dust opened into a pair of snapping jaws. “I suggest you leave now, before I start making things difficult for you.”  
  
Draco stood there quivering for one more moment, but it was true that he couldn’t see a way to make Weasley listen to him. He bowed his head a little and said, “If you ever want to tell me something else, you can owl me. I’ll respond at once.”  
  
Weasley just made a little gesture with his wand, and the dust-jaws snapped. Draco gave ground before them, until he reached the outer door, where he could walk out without further loss of dignity.  
  
He had learned—well, something. Not as much as he had hoped, not as much as he had _wished_ to learn after an encounter like this, but something interesting. It was in Weasley’s tone and body language, much as the information the Minister had given him this morning had been.  
  
Whatever Potter’s secret was, it was one that neither surprised nor dismayed Weasley. He was willing to continue trusting Potter beyond all reason.  
  
 _On the other hand…_  
  
 _That can simply mean that he doesn’t know it, and his trust is utterly blind._  
  
*  
  
Draco held up the potion flask and turned it back and forth. Rose Sheldon ducked her head, but not fast enough. Draco could make out the naked look of longing in her face.  
  
Draco lowered the potion and smiled at her.  
  
“You don’t have to take it, of course,” he said. “I know the Minister would be particularly annoyed about Potter’s birth records disappearing for even a short time. I know you could get sacked. I know you might get in trouble. That’s why I would never _insist_ that you take the potion and get the records for me.”  
  
“That’s right,” Sheldon breathed, although she sounded as if she was talking to someone else rather than him. “I could be _arrested_.”  
  
“I’m pleased that you’ve shown sense and maturity at last.” Draco put the potion flask carefully down beside him. “It’s not what I would expect of someone addicted to the Lucid Dreaming Potion.”  
  
“I’m not addicted.”  
  
“Well, then.” Draco spread his hands and stirred a small pile of parchment on his desk as he did so, some of the notes he had taken on Potter’s reading material. “Then you have absolutely no reason to take the potion from me. In fact, I’d probably be better off pouring it down the sink in the bathroom down the corridor.”  
  
“That’s right.”  
  
Sheldon’s voice lacked conviction, but she kept her back turned to him and her hands clasped around each other. Maybe that _would_ be enough to keep her from reaching for the potion as he took it out, Draco thought. He stood up.  
  
He had walked all the way to the door of the office before Sheldon flung out her hand to stay him. Hiding his smile, Draco turned back and bowed his head. “Yes?” he asked. “Did you have something to say about its fate after all?”  
  
“I don’t like you,” said Sheldon, and her eyes shone with pale passion at him for a second before they focused on the potion flask he was carrying.  
  
“I can understand why,” Draco said softly. He was a mirror of all her flaws and faults, and Draco didn’t think he would take well himself to seeing them so mercilessly laid out.  
  
Sheldon glared at him for a second. Her eyes went right back to the potion, and she lost whatever she had been about to say after that. She shook her head and held out her hand.  
  
Draco walked solemnly over and gave her the flask. Sheldon took the cork out and sniffed it, although Draco had never thought it had a particular scent. Maybe it was one of those things that addicts could sense more easily than other people.  
  
Sheldon’s eyes fluttered, and she looked at Draco with such a guilty expression that he bit his lip. She would walk out of his office and anyone who looked at her would know instantly that she was up to something.  
  
On the other hand, he’d once again met her in the evening, after most of the Ministry lackeys had gone home. And she had managed to get the files for him in the past, no matter how she did it. Draco would rely on her for it again.  
  
“It’ll take me an hour,” Sheldon whispered.  
  
Draco had expected to hear that it would take days. “I’ve got reports to work on,” he responded, and picked up the first one, although it was one of those that really only needed his signature. Still, that didn’t matter. He would do whatever was necessary to work with her.  
  
Sheldon glanced once at his face, then away. She whispered, “I’ll be back with the file,” and glided out. Draco saw her hand trembling on the flask. She must have tried to quit again, and be going through withdrawal.  
  
Come to think of it, that probably explained her willingness to get the file for him. She must be afraid that he would take the potion away if she hesitated.  
  
Draco thought of chasing her and explaining how badly he wanted to read the file, but only for a moment, the way he might have thought of a particularly vivid dream. Then he shook his head and turned back to the report, which he _did_ have to finish.  
  
*  
  
Sheldon finally came back, slapped the file down in front of him, and retreated without a word. Draco didn’t pursue her. He was too busy flipping through the pages inside, which, typical for Ministry birth records, included descriptions of Potter’s parents, descriptions of _their_ parents, and a form that attempted to argue out whether the child in question had any right to claim a pure-blood heritage. Draco had never been less interested in that thing.  
  
Finally he arrived at the form that he thought would tell him what he wanted to know, the description of the baby at birth. There was a handwritten complaint at the top that stated: _Not filed until 10/11/1981,_ despite _the child in question being born on the 31st of July eighteen months earlier!_  
  
Draco snorted. A certain kind of Ministry employee would always care more about the correct filling-in of forms than the reasons that such forms might not be filed on time.  
  
Then he looked at the description of Potter’s soul-mark, which should solve some of the more pressing riddles.  
  
The line was blank.  
  
Draco stared, then flipped the parchment over in the vain hope that it might be written on the back. He shook his head in bewilderment. Soul-marks were _always_ recorded. The Ministry might squat on the information and do nothing with it nowadays; in the past, they had sometimes participated in arranged marriages by checking to see which soul-marks matched. But they would still write it down.  
  
 _What does this mean?_  
  
Draco cast a few spells that ought to tell him whether someone had come in and magically altered the paper or erased any writing here. But no, they hadn’t. The line was simply and utterly blank.  
  
Draco rose to his feet. He didn’t realize he was trembling until he put out his hand and saw it shaking the pile of parchment. Then he closed his eyes and swallowed several breaths.  
  
No. This wouldn’t control him. He controlled _it._  
  
And that left him only one option. He would have to hunt Potter down again, using another draining elemental magic ritual if necessary, and this time, imprison him in a cell of his own construction. He would get no answers either trying to question him in one of Potter’s sanctuaries or bringing him back to the Ministry.  
  
 _But I am going to solve this. I_ am _going to know._  
  



	9. Bringing Him Down

Draco stepped back and paced slowly around the pile of flaked stones. No matter how much he concentrated, he couldn’t feel any power in them.  
  
Draco snorted. Potter would doubtless say that was because Draco was a wand magic user and distant from the human-centered magic of old artifacts like this.  
  
But he didn’t care. The flaked stones were—apparently—old Muggle knives and axes taken from Muggle “digs.” Goyle had tried to explain it all to Draco, enthusiastic about grinding stone and the kind of magical power you released when you did so, but all Draco had to do was give him a bored look. Then he shut up and got to work meekly offering the artifacts.  
  
He’d also given Draco a spell that would essentially light a beacon near them for any user of earth magic. It should pull on Potter even more than it would someone who knew normal things about elemental magic, from what Draco understood, because Potter had abandoned all other kinds of power to use earth magic exclusively.  
  
 _Because he had to. Because he doesn’t have a soul-mark._  
  
But Draco shook his head a second later. That still didn’t make sense. It was much more likely that someone had forgotten to fill out the records properly, and that the Minister was afraid of the knowledge becoming public.  
  
That led Draco to a second problem, though. So some of the Ministry’s servants were incompetent. Well, everyone had always known _that_. It still didn’t explain why de Berenzan was so fervent about keeping this particular slip-up a secret.  
  
 _Maybe people would be harder on him because it’s the Boy-Who-Lived, not some random child born to a random couple._  
  
But no matter how Draco let his mind loose on it, there was still a riddle in the center that refused to crack, like a nut with a thick shell. Draco hoped that this particular store of artifacts, his bait, would provide the hammer he needed to crack that shell.  
  
He wrapped himself in spells deeper even the Disillusionment Charm, and hid near the pile of artifacts, and waited.  
  
*  
  
Draco lost track of time as he crouched. He only shifted his weight when he had to, moving carefully even to relieve himself or take a few bites from the sandwiches he had brought along with him. They were roasted beef sandwiches made by house-elves, practically indestructible. Now and then Draco started as he heard a sharp _clink_ off to the side, but it was always some tourist who had come to Carn Gluze to actually admire the cairn.  
  
By the time Potter arrived, Draco was almost half-asleep. But he jerked himself awake again when he heard footsteps skittering towards the pile of artifacts. The Muggles who had walked around them hadn’t recognized them as anything important as all, only thinking of them as another little stack of rocks.  
  
From the way this person walked, _they_ knew their value.  
  
The person stopped and crouched next to the pile of artifacts. Draco narrowed his eyes and made his breathing as soft and gentle as he could. Even the enhanced Disillusionment Charm might not fool Potter if he made too much sound.  
  
Potter crouched with his head hanging over the artifacts for so long that Draco entertained the ridiculous thought that he’d gone to sleep. And then he stood up and began to move casually in the direction of the outer cairn, without touching the pile.  
  
 _He knows it’s a trap._  
  
Draco struck, knowing Potter would disappear in another minute and not relishing the thought of chasing him all over Britain again. He aimed his wand and hissed an incantation that made the ground in front of Potter’s feet seem to vanish. It hadn’t, really, but it certainly looked like that to someone who wasn’t in on the secret of the illusion.  
  
Potter jumped and whirled around, his eyes wide. Draco took some pleasure in the way those eyes darted around madly, trying to see into corners and shadows. Apparently he hadn’t thought that someone might conceal himself right next to the pile of artifacts, even though he had decided they were the bait in a trap.  
  
Draco tried a Stunner next. It was a simple spell, but there was a reason that it was still one of the spells that Aurors used most often.  
  
Potter leaped over it, and then dodged the next one Draco aimed. He was moving in swift leaps towards the nearest clear patch of dirt. Maybe his way of traveling under the ground would work best there, Draco thought.  
  
Draco Apparated behind him, and Potter had to turn hard so as not to run into him. He looked at Draco from so close, his eyes so wide, with the white standing out around the pupil, that Draco really thought he might give up.  
  
Instead, Potter thrust out a hand, and there was a clinking and rattling as pebbles materialized from the center of his palm, flying towards Draco so that he had no chance but to duck.  
  
Potter had one foot on the clear earth by the time Draco could see again. And Draco knew he would probably never lure him back after this.  
  
In desperation, he spoke the words he hadn’t intended to speak. “I looked at your birth records, Potter. I know you don’t have a soul-mark.”  
  
Potter stilled. That was all Draco needed. Everything was fine as long as Potter didn’t flee. The best thing was to keep him here and talking.  
  
“I don’t know why the Minister would be so afraid of you because of that,” Draco admitted, and swallowed back the sour taste in his mouth. He didn’t like _admitting_ anything, instead of announcing it. “But I want to know.” He paused, eyes locked on Potter’s face. “You know.”  
  
It was an instinctive guess, since he had seen the way Potter’s face changed, rather than a certainty. But Potter’s expression turned smooth and bitter, and he shook his head. “It’s nothing you can help me with, Malfoy.”  
  
Draco stretched out a hand, although Potter hadn’t actually moved to leap into the ground. Then again, he might do something with earth magic that Draco wouldn’t recognize when it began to happen. “I didn’t think I could help you with it. But you might consider this. I use Dark Arts, too, which is even worse for an Auror than for a private citizen. And I dislike the Minister as much as you do.”  
  
“Why? Probably his blood,” Potter muttered a second later.  
  
Draco snorted. “No. Because he treats me like a weapon he wants to use but which he’s always afraid will turn and cut him. He doesn’t have the courage to either trust me or discard me.”  
  
Potter blinked several times. Then he said, “That’s the way he looks at _me_.”  
  
 _Yes. I’m so glad that I had the wit to say that._ Draco moved a slow step forwards, making sure his wand was down at his side. He suspected Potter would abandon him in a hot minute if he thought Draco was going to take him in. “Yes, I know. And that makes me think it’s more than coincidence that he put me on your case. More even than my reputation.” He swallowed more sourness. “So. Want to tell me what it is?”  
  
Potter considered him in silence. Draco tamped down the impatience that he knew was going to get him in trouble if he didn’t. He waited, instead, in silence, while Potter looked behind him at the piled artifacts, and up and down Draco’s body, and around the tourist site as if he expected Muggles to show up, although it was night and the attraction was closed.  
  
Then Potter nodded. “If we can go somewhere private and talk, I’ll tell you.”  
  
Draco closed his mouth on a shout of triumph and held out his hand. “Will you trust me to Apparate you? I promise I won’t take you to a holding cell.”  
  
Potter gave him a sad smile and put a hand on Draco’s. “The sad thing is that I’m reduced to trusting the word of a Ministry employee,” he said.  
  
Draco thought it odd that he chose that term instead of “Malfoy,” but it was more than Potter’s right. He twisted into the Apparition, hearing Potter draw harsh, shallow breaths next to him.  
  
*  
  
Potter looked more out of place in Draco’s drawing room than Draco had supposed he would. Even his black hair was like a wound, cutting across the bookshelves as he paced in circles, trailing his fingers over the spines.  
  
“Sit down. I’ll have my house-elf bring us some tea.”  
  
Potter studied him with steady eyes, and then nodded and sat. Draco waited until the house-elf had come and gone. Unlike some wizards, he didn’t discount them anymore, not after seeing the way that the one called Dobby had died rescuing Potter during the war. And what they observed, they might report back.  
  
“Tell me what it means not to have a soul-mark,” Draco said, holding the teacup in front of his lips and pretending to sip. His throat felt closed with excitement; he couldn’t have swallowed a drop. Potter, on the other hand, was avidly eating the small cakes the elf had brought with the tea.  
  
Potter stopped in mid-swallow, and stared at the center of the table. His lips moved. Draco tensed until he realized Potter was counting under his breath.  
  
 _For courage?_  
  
Potter looked up, and said softly, “It means I have no soul.”  
  
Draco set down his cup hard. Then he said, “That’s not possible.”  
  
“But it is.” Potter sighed. “Wands react with your soul. I told you that before. I had a piece of a soul in me for a long time, which is probably why I could use a wand. But not long after the Horcrux died, I could only use the Elder Wand. And I told you about its corruption.”  
  
“You must still have a soul,” Draco said, his mind rushing along various pathways. He discarded some of the arguments that came to him, though. Potter had probably thought of them already and wouldn’t listen, and it was abruptly important to Draco that Potter listen. “Otherwise, how could the Elder Wand interact with you at all?”  
  
“Either because it has a soul of its own—after all, it was made by Death—or because its magic is strong enough to maintain the connection after the Horcrux died.” Potter sighed and swallowed the last bite of another cake. “I don’t know exactly, Malfoy. What I can tell you is that I’ve done enough research during the last few years to be sure I’m telling you the truth. I don’t have a soul. I don’t have a soulmate. I’m not going to be able to come back as a ghost or go on to whatever else there is after death. The soul-mark shows that you have a soul. It’s just so common that other people don’t question it.”  
  
Draco sat there with his head reeling. Potter ate three more small cakes, eyes on him.  
  
Draco finally said, “I need to know what kind of research you read that suggests you don’t have a soul. After all, otherwise you should have been born dead, or something. Or if you’d survived, you would just lie there breathing and blinking and nothing else. That’s what people who have their souls sucked out by the Dementors do.”  
  
Potter nodded slowly. “And when they get their souls sucked out, their soul-marks disappear.”  
  
Draco made an impatient gesture. “That doesn’t mean _you_ don’t have one.”  
  
“Have you heard of the rain unicorns?”  
  
Draco stared in incomprehension, which he didn’t like, but at least this time Potter answered the damn question right away. “I thought not.” Draco took some cheer from being able to still find that smug voice aggravating. “They’re very, very distant kin to true unicorns. They’re Dark creatures. Shadowy grey. They’re born from the kind of storms that cause hundreds or thousands of deaths. They feed on souls, like Dementors, but they have to touch people with their horns to do it.”  
  
“Did you get touched by one?”  
  
“No. Of course not. I’m only telling you what I learned. The soul-marks disappear from the skins of people touched by a rain unicorn, too.” Potter’s breath was coming a little faster, and he leaned forwards and stared at the last two remaining cakes as if they would answer for him. Draco took one on purpose, to force Potter to look up, and he did, but swallowed with his gaze lingering on Draco’s face.   
  
“There are people,” Potter whispered, “who’ve lived with the rain unicorns for a long time, and they make treaties with them. Feed them some of their own criminals and outcasts and outsiders for the gifts of hide and horn.” He shifted balance, as if he was in a forest himself, watching a rain-colored creature pace towards him. “That’s where a lot of the unicorn horn for sale in apothecaries comes from.”  
  
Draco checked an exclamation. He had wondered, for a long time, why selling unicorn horns for use in potions didn’t seem to curse the people who supplied them. There couldn’t be _that_ many unicorns who willingly gave their horns up, or people who found old ones.  
  
Of course, it was illegal. But there were still a lot of them around.  
  
“What about these people?” Draco finally asked, realizing that Potter had stopped speaking and was just looking at him with tired, ancient eyes.  
  
“They’re born without souls,” Potter said. “Without soul-marks, even though they’re wizards and that’s supposed to be universal. They live and die like anyone else, but they can’t use wands. And they can spend time around Dementors comfortably without having their souls sucked out, either. The Dementors just ignore them. They don’t have anything they can eat.”  
  
“You were affected by Dementors.” Draco thought this was crazy, and he was going to let Potter know that.  
  
Potter dipped his head, and his smile was ugly enough that Draco wanted to tell him to stop giving it. “I _was_. When I had that bit of soul in me that was still large enough to make them respond. But I’ve been near them since I started losing my connection with my wand.” He shrugged. “They ignore me.”  
  
That was the first piece of proof Potter had offered that Draco thought he could accept. He settled a little further back from Potter and studied him. Potter ate the last cake, or rather half of it. He held the other half out to Draco.  
  
Draco accepted it even though, most of the time, nothing would have persuaded him to put his lips on something another person had already touched like that. “Why is the Minister so desperate to stop word of this spreading? Why ban people from having access to your birth records?”  
  
“Partially because I’m a freak,” said Potter, with a sharp twist of his lips as though the word was more unpleasant to him than a half-eaten cake. “The public either wouldn’t know what to do with me or would think I was dangerous. And the clamor would be worse because I’m famous. It has the potential to create a scandal.” He shrugged. “Public opinion can turn in a minute, though. de Berenzan is already thinking about his legacy. If he imprisons or kills me and someone decides years later that it was the wrong thing to do, he doesn’t want to be remembered as the Minister who did it.”  
  
“You said partially.”  
  
Potter meant his eyes for a second. Then he said, “You told me it was impossible for me not to have a soul because everyone is born with a soul-mark.”  
  
“I did _not_ ,” Draco corrected him sharply. “I said that it was impossible for you not to have a soul because I know what people without a soul are like, and you’re not one of them.”  
  
“Been close to the people that the Dementors devoured, Malfoy?”  
  
“A few of them.”  
  
Potter paused, then tilted his head in respect. “Then answer another question for me. If you hadn’t seen my birth records, would it ever have occurred to you that I didn’t have a soul-mark, instead of a changed or unusual one?”  
  
Draco had to pause to consider that. Finally, reluctantly, he shook his head. “Only as a last resort, and then I wouldn’t have thought it implied a lack of a soul. Everyone has a soul-mark.”  
  
“Right,” Potter whispered. “Only I went through the Ministry archives before de Berenzan had any idea of what I was doing or how to make me stop.” He paused and stared at the far wall for a second, then paid attention to Draco again. “I found other birth records of people without soul-marks.”  
  
Draco frowned. “And? Then it can’t be that awful, and de Berenzan doesn’t have as much of a political motive to squash you as you think.”  
  
Potter laughed hollowly. “All of those babies had a death date within twelve months of their birthdates.”  
  
Draco sat back slowly, a small shiver cramping up his hands and making the last crumbs of the cake fall to the floor. “That’s—it’s a natural condition for the soulless, then? And you only lasted this long because you had a bit of the Dark Lord’s soul in you? So you think you’re going to crumple over any second, and you don’t plan to be on the run from the Ministry for that long?”  
  
It made sense of Potter’s insane behavior, anyway. He didn’t have to plan for the long term. He only had to plan for a few more days, or months, until his body noticed it wasn’t supposed to be alive and fell over.  
  
“They died within twelve months,” Potter said quietly. “I was older than that when Voldemort came for me.”   
  
He paused again. Draco felt sweat making its way down the insides of his elbows.  
  
“No,” Potter whispered. “I think the Ministry arranged for their deaths.” At Draco’s sharp explanation, he sat up straight. “All of the records had the official Ministry seal. None had any sign that an investigation had been launched into their deaths. Most of them showed the cause of death as heart failure. _Heart failure,_ in that many infants, almost all of whom also didn’t have any illnesses listed on their records?”  
  
Potter shook his head. “No. I think the Ministry’s been conducting infanticide of the soulless for a damn long time, and I only escaped because I was in hiding under the Fidelius when I was born and neither of my parents would have believed in such a stupid thing. And my birth records were filed later, and someone either made sure that I wouldn’t get killed because I was the Boy-Who-Lived or overlooked it in the chaos after the first war.” He looked at Draco with a faint, sarcastic smile. “Imagine being the Minister on whose watch _that_ came out. Now I think you can see why de Berenzan is afraid of me.”  
  



	10. The Markless

“There’s no reason for them to do that,” Draco said, the first rational thought that came into his mind.  
  
Potter sat so still for a second that Draco thought he wasn’t going to argue. Or maybe he was going to laugh and say that he’d made it all up.  
  
Draco hoped he wouldn’t do that. His skin was prickling, and he swallowed, because it made sense of what had been senseless: the way Potter had run away from wizarding society, and the way he talked about the Minister, and the absurd order sealing Potter’s birth records when they might have been one of the best clues to find him.  
  
If _he ran away after he read them._ If _this whole thing doesn’t have some deeper mystery behind it. I seem to get an unexpected answer every time I think I finally have the clue of what’s going on here._  
  
Potter turned then and held out his hand towards the nearest window. Draco jumped as he heard a rumbling in the earth beneath the house. He wanted to leap up and remind Potter that Draco hadn’t threatened his friends, so he shouldn’t be calling an earthquake to destroy Draco’s home.  
  
But Potter didn’t do anything like that. Instead, he said mildly, “You might want to open your window.”  
  
Draco did with a flick of his wand, in the second before a small book came flying through where the glass would have been and landed in Potter’s hand. He looked through it as if he had some doubt of it being the one he wanted, and then he nodded and held it out to Draco. His finger tapped in the middle of the page. “Start reading there.”  
  
Draco held back the impulse to say that he knew perfectly well where to start reading with something as important as this. He bent his head instead. Potter’s chosen place was in the middle of a sentence.  
  
 _…probably always have been those without soul-marks among us. In the days before the Ministry and the advent of proper record-keeping, they would have been able to pass unnoticed, if the parents and the midwife said nothing about the lack of their mark. Perhaps they themselves did not know what they were, and thought their marks simply so small as to be unnoticeable._  
  
 _But now that the recent research has traced the rise of Dark Lords and the soulless, all is made clear._  
  
Draco sat back hard enough that the book rocked in his hands. He shook his head a second later. “But we _know_ the Dark Lord had a soul. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been able to attach a piece of it to you.”  
  
“I know.” Potter had a fine haunted smile when he wanted to. “But keep reading.”  
  
Draco did, although he kept one eye on Potter. He was looking around the room now as if considering ways out of it, and Draco was _not_ going to let him disappear again.  
  
 _The soulless become Dark Lords because they feel no connection to anyone among those who have souls. Everyone knows that soul-marks are a gift, even if one never finds the person who carries the other half. Having_ someone _out there who would understand you perfectly means that you are never alone in this world._  
  
 _But Dark Lords are alone. They disdain connection. They kill those who would befriend them, those foolish enough to trust them, those who think to become their wives and be safe around them that way._  
  
 _Dark Lords cannot have soul-marks. The soulless can feel no sense of connection. Even the ones who would not grow up to become Dark Lords, from lack of power or opportunity, commit many small crimes in their day-to-day lives._  
  
 _We can never eliminate all crime. But we can eliminate crime caused by the soulless._  
  
 _Here follows a list of Dark Lords. Examination of their bodies after death proved that they have no soul-mark, and that means that they have no connection to anyone else and their souls are gone._  
  
Draco skimmed the list, frowning. He had expected the book to be just internal Ministry propaganda—it had to be, from the way it sounded and the way it talked about the existence of people without soul-marks so openly—but it was true that he didn’t know what soul-marks most of the Dark Lords it had mentioned had carried. They’d certainly never met or married their soulmates, or been friends with them, from what Draco knew. And it was hard to imagine the eighteenth-century Dark Lady Adeline Yaxley having any kind of connection to anybody, just like the book had talked about.  
  
The last name, though, he paused on, so he could shoot a glance at Potter. “I never heard that Grindelwald didn’t have a soul-mark.”  
  
Potter began to chuckle, his head down. That muffled the sound a little, but Draco could still tell it was rusty and hysterical. He subtly shifted to get his wand in a good position. He would Stun Potter if he had to.  
  
“That’s something I know about,” Potter whispered, looking up. “I had a source of information—the only person left who would know, and he wouldn’t have talked to anyone else. Aberforth Dumbledore,” he added, when Draco simply stared at him. “He told me the truth. His brother and Grindelwald were soulmates.”  
  
Draco just stared. That was even more ridiculous than the notion of some people being born soulless and the Ministry slaughtering anyone they could get their hands on.  
  
“That’s impossible,” Draco finally said. “You’re telling me—Dumbledore never associated with—he dueled his _soulmate_?”  
  
Potter shrugged. “They had a quarrel. They did used to believe in the same things. Dumbledore wanted to take over the world for the greater good and all that. But they fell out. And Dumbledore—Albus, I mean…well, Aberforth told me how ashamed he felt about being soulmated to someone who had caused that much harm. After he captured Grindelwald, he cast a spell that masked Grindelwald’s soul-mark, so no one could ever find out what it had been and use it against Dumbledore. The spell was still there through every interview anyone ever had with him when he was tried, so the Ministry could decide that he was one of the soulless.”  
  
Potter closed his eyes. “I don’t think Dumbledore would have done it if he knew the kind of trouble it would cause. But then, I have no idea if he knew about the soulless. He was one of the people who reassured me that the scar must have covered my true soul-mark, but someday it would fade and I’d find my destiny.”  
  
Draco pushed his hands slowly through his hair and said the only thing he could think of, the only thing that made sense. “But the Dark Lord had a soul. And presumably a soul-mark.”  
  
“I don’t know what it was,” Potter whispered. “He didn’t have birth records at the Ministry, you know. He was born in a Muggle orphanage, and his mother only lived long enough to name him before she died. He didn’t have Ministry records. None of the Muggleborns do.” He paused, and Draco had the strangest feeling that he was gathering himself for a leap into the dark. Draco subtly tightened the protective spells around both himself and his house.  
  
 _I can’t let him get away, not when he’s scattered all these burning pieces inside my head._  
  
“I was in contact with the Dark Lord’s mind, and he never thought about the soul-mark.” Potter blinked and seemed to leave the dangerous mood he’d been in behind. “I think he’d discarded the thought of going to whoever it was. He thought it made him weak.”  
  
Draco’s mouth tightened as he thought of the woman magic had supposedly destined him for. He could understand the Dark Lord’s sentiment.  
  
“Anyway.” Potter shook his head and turned the book over. “This was written by an adviser to Minister Bagnold. From what I could find, she was one of the people who questioned the necessity of killing the soulless, and the author wrote it to convince her the killing had to continue.”  
  
“Everyone has a soul,” Draco said. “Even if they don’t have a soul-mark.”  
  
Potter turned a weary gaze on him. “Muggles don’t have soul-marks,” he said. “And they have souls. I think a soul-mark means two things: the soul, and the capacity to use wand magic.”  
  
“But Squibs have them, too.”  
  
Potter shook his head a little. “Squibs still have the _capacity_ to use magic, Malfoy. What they don’t have is the _ability_. But they’re born with the capacity, and if someone came up with a means of giving them magic, they could use it. Muggles wouldn’t be able to no matter how much magic you gave them.” He hesitated. “And they both have souls. I have neither.”  
  
“You’re very sure of all this,” Draco said. He felt as though someone had slammed him in the brow with a bronze plate, and his head was still ringing.   
  
“I am,” said Potter, with a little shrug. “Why shouldn’t I be? I got to do all the research I wanted because people didn’t dare to question me. And of course no one thought I was one of the soulless.”  
  
“Stop _calling_ yourself that,” Draco said. At least he had identified part of what bothered him, and that calmed the ringing in his head a little. “You’re not soulless. You’re not a body that a Dementor’s fed on. I’m not sure that I even believe your proof that you don’t have a soul.”  
  
Potter looked at him steadily. “I can take you through the earth-tunnels to Azkaban, if you like. Islands are no problem when you can travel beneath the water. And there, we can confront Dementors, and you’ll see the way they all glide past me, and focus on you.”  
  
“All right, I don’t distrust you enough to risk _that_ ,” Draco said reluctantly, and wrung a wan grin out of Potter. _Somehow, I shall have to win a brighter one than that,_ Draco thought. “But I need more proof.”  
  
“I can take you to meet the people who trade with the rain unicorns. They have some methods for detecting people who have souls and ones who don’t. That would convince you, I suppose.”  
  
Draco sat silently instead of answering right away. The fact was, this was so unbelievable that he didn’t know if it _would_.  
  
Potter seemed to be offering practical demonstrations, and good conclusions, and some original research that might prove to be true in the end. But Draco wanted more of a theoretical underpinning, like how Potter could be walking around breathing and blinking if he didn’t have a soul.  
  
“You worked out the theory that would let you use earth magic and harness the age of the rocks,” said Draco at last. “I want to know what you think the theory of soul-marks is. And the soulless. Why were you born without one? Your survival proves that the soulless can have normal lives—”  
  
Potter snorted. Draco waved a hand at him.  
  
“Normal lives _of a sort_ ,” he said. “I mean, you can live as long as any other wizard, and you don’t lack the ability to care about people, which is what that book was trying to present as a justification for killing the soulless. So. What’s the theory?”  
  
Potter leaned slowly back in his chair and toyed with his empty teacup. He was frowning. Draco watched him through slit eyes, not sure if he hoped more for Potter to be right or wrong. On the one hand, Draco didn’t like the thought of the Ministry doing this all the time and under his nose; on the other hand, he had admired Potter’s theoretical ability so far, and it would be a shame if he didn’t really know what to make of all this.  
  
“Keep in mind that half my research was fairy tales,” Potter finally said.  
  
“I will.”  
  
Potter moved his head back and forth like a snake getting into position for a strike, and finally nodded. “I think that some people just aren’t—lucky enough for that kind of connection. The same way that people choose not to go to their soulmates.” He glanced at Draco. “You never went to yours, did you?”  
  
“I know who she is.” Draco let coolness shade into his voice. As far as he was concerned, they weren’t here to talk about _him_. He wasn’t the one with the theoretically fascinating and unlikely existence. “I chose not to let her drag me down.”  
  
Potter blinked once. Then he said, “Then you know that soulmates aren’t the romantic necessity everyone thinks they are.”  
  
“Anyone who came up in a House other than Gryffindor or studied history knows that, Potter.”  
  
“But you were still stunned when you found out that Dumbledore had battled his soulmate.” Potter gave him a painful smile. “I think you have some romantic notions surviving in your soul after all.”  
  
Draco clenched his teeth to keep from saying that at least he _had_ a soul. He wasn’t going to fall into Potter’s nonsense without more proof. “I was shocked because I didn’t know who Dumbledore’s soulmate was,” he said smoothly. “Now. Are you sure that you aren’t delusional, Potter? Longing so much for your soulmate—”  
  
“Who doesn’t exist.”  
  
“Who might have been a horrible person, for all you know. Who might have weighed you down. Who might have died young and left you fruitlessly searching and unhappy about whoever you did choose to be with or marry.”  
  
Potter blinked. Then he said, “I—have close friends. I know what that’s like, and Ron and Hermione are the best friends I could ask for. But I wanted to know what a pure romantic love was like, one that we could be sure was real because we were meant to be.”  
  
Draco sighed patiently. This was the exact motive that he thought was behind Potter reading about soul-marks in the first place, if not running away. “Listen, Potter. We don’t yet know you’re soulless. We don’t yet know why some people have soul-marks and some don’t. The thing we need to do is bring out the truth and destroy Minister de Berenzan’s chances for re-election based on what he did to you.”  
  
“Of course for you it’s politics.” Potter only shook his head as if he had thought better of Draco. Draco wanted to ask indignantly what better he should _be_ , but Potter went on. “How long do you think I’d live after I revealed that I didn’t have a soul-mark?”  
  
“What?” Draco hadn’t thought of that. “You think someone would make an attempt on your _life_?”  
  
“It’s not just the Minister who knows about killing the soulless, although the idea’s confined to the top levels of the Ministry.” Potter held his eyes. “How long would it take for someone to set out to kill me, because I should have been culled when I was a baby and managed to escape? Or to start spreading the rumor that the ‘erratic’ and ‘dangerous’ things I’m doing lately are because I don’t have a soul and soulmate to restrain me?”  
  
“If they’ve hidden the news about the soulless for so long, they wouldn’t want to just release it—”  
  
“They wouldn’t have to tell people about the other children born without soul-marks. They would just have to imply certain things about me. That I’m twisted from having a bit of Voldemort’s soul inside me for so long, maybe. Or that my own soul died when I destroyed his, because we were too tightly entwined. There are still lots of people out there who can swing to being afraid of me because the papers and the Ministry tell them to be.” Potter sighed and let his head dangle back on the chair. “Even more so now that I’ve been running from the Aurors for a while.”  
  
“That’s why it was a stupid thing to do, Potter. You should have told the truth and challenged the Ministry that way.”  
  
Potter only closed his eyes. “It’s been good to tell someone else the truth,” he whispered. “I couldn’t tell Hermione because I’m afraid that she would go up against the Ministry and get hurt, and I couldn’t tell Ron because he’s—still not over the idea that I’m not Ginny’s soulmate. They would want to help, I _know_ they would. But they couldn’t accept me just leaving.” He stood up and nodded to Draco. “The way you will.”  
  
Draco stood up. “The hell I will.”  
  
Potter’s face looked smooth and hot and alien, the skull of some desert creature. “You only have something to lose if you keep chasing me,” he said gently. “You’ll attract the Minister’s attention eventually, won’t you? He’ll wonder why you can’t catch me and if you’re holding back on purpose, and then he might start suspecting what else you know. Just—accept it. At least this way he won’t be able to destroy _you_.”  
  
“The hell I will. I didn’t work so long on building up my reputation as a good Auror to sacrifice it over _you_.”  
  
Potter shook his head, not so much as if he disagreed as wearily. “What else can you do, Malfoy?”  
  
Draco reached out and caught Potter’s arm. Potter tensed, but didn’t try to move away, watching Draco so calmly that it stung Draco’s skin. Potter ought to be defiant, the way he had been when Draco first began pursuing him. He didn’t get to just _give up_.  
  
“I’m going to make sure you have the chance to tell the truth,” Draco told him quietly. “And whether or not we ever find out what it means for you not to have a soul-mark, there _is_ one thing we can achieve.” He grinned. “We can bring de Berenzan down. And that would be good for both of us.”  
  
Potter’s eyebrows tilted up, and up, and up. “I can’t come back to the wizarding world no matter what—”  
  
“I’ll make it so you can,” Draco cut in. Really, this irritated him. Potter was going to slump back and _give in?_ No.   
  
“Well. All right. We can try. I don’t have a lot that’s more urgent to do right now.”  
  
“Thank you for your gracious permission,” Draco muttered as he turned away, but already his mind was skittering ahead, focusing on other plans.  
  
And one of those plans was getting Potter _invested_. He didn’t get to sit around sighing and dreaming his life away. It wasn’t right on Draco’s personal scale, which was a lot more important than any moral one.


	11. Standing to Fight

“I wish you luck in whatever you want to do about the Minister, Malfoy. But it’s not my fight.”  
  
Draco smiled. He was going to convince Potter if it killed him, and at the moment, Potter should be warier than he looked. He should see the diamond edge to Draco’s smile, or at least recognize it from Hogwarts.  
  
“I only want to go somewhere and hole up and relearn magic,” Potter continued, looking away. His mouth was tense and tight. “All the magic that I could do with a wand…Some of I’ve found substitutes for, like Apparating and the Summoning Charm, but not all of it. It’s bloody inconvenient not to be able to conjure what I want, for one thing. And you destroyed the place I thought I’d be living.”  
  
“How did I _destroy_ it?” Draco asked, struck by the injustice of that accusation. “As far as I remember, you were the one who called up the golem and the other things that might have destroyed the tunnels. I only cast a few spells to defend myself against your traps.”  
  
“I mean that you destroyed the secrecy.” Potter glared at him. “If I want to have privacy, I can’t go back there.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Because you know about it.”  
  
Draco winced before he could stop himself. They were sitting at the table in his kitchen, eating the last remnants of a large meal Draco thought Potter required to stop looking like a ghost. “And I’m that bad an enemy, Potter?”  
  
Potter opened his mouth, then seemed to catch the nuances of the tone in Draco’s voice and looked away, frowning. “It’s not because you’re _you_ ,” he said. “Or because you’re a—Malfoy, or anything. It’s because you’re the kind of person who will keep coming after me about attacking the Minister. I’m tired of the politics, Malfoy. I want to go away.”  
  
“And leave all your friends behind,” Draco said, in as musing a tone as he could. He made himself relax in his chair—hard, when he wanted to leap out and pace around—and stretch his feet out until they collided with Potter’s chair legs. He rolled his shoulders. “And any chance of getting revenge on de Berenzan.”  
  
“He’s not the one who made me this way. What revenge?”  
  
“He’s the one who’s caused me to pursue you,” Draco said, trying to make his eyes as unblinking as he could. “The one who’s killed children like you in the past, and only let you survive by chance.”  
  
Potter tensed, but kept his head turned away, at so uncomfortable an angle Draco wondered for a moment if he was a masochist. Maybe that was what drove some of his melodramatic insistence on staying away from society as a whole. “Well, he wasn’t the one who made that decision. The Minister when I was born was Bagnold.”  
  
“You still can’t live a normal life because of the attitudes of de Berenzan and people like him in the Ministry.” Draco tried to sound like he was considering it as an abstract problem, a fascinating one of magical theory. It was the way he would have been thought of the earth magic Potter had come up with if he had heard about it from another Auror instead of facing it in one of his own cases. “Don’t you want to change them?”  
  
“I can’t.”  
  
“Don’t you want a normal life?”  
  
“I haven’t had that since I was _born_ , Malfoy.”  
  
Draco paused. “You mean, since the Dark Lord targeted you when you were a baby.”  
  
“No, I mean since I was born without a soul and a soul-mark, and without someone who could love me forever for just the way I am.” Potter slammed his hands into the table and stood up. “Thanks for the meal, Malfoy, and for the company. But I’m going.”  
  
“Look,” Draco said, planting his feet on the floor and ignoring the temptation to get up. He thought Potter would flee if he felt cornered. “You _know_ now that soulmates aren’t people who always ‘love you forever for just the way you are.’ You must have, from as much research as you’ve done on the topic. Will you give up the notion and look forward to improving the life you _do_ have?”  
  
“I could only fight for other people, Malfoy. For the chance to improve it for _them_. I know what to do with the one I have.”  
  
Draco choked back a laugh. It was too easy, sometimes, amazingly easy when he’d just been thinking that he could say nothing to convince Potter. “Then you do have that chance. Fight for that chance.”  
  
Potter froze with his hand hovering above the doorknob. “What do you mean?”  
  
“I suppose you think the birth of children without a soul-mark will stop now that you’ve made your daring discovery and disappeared to lead your life of pain in the shadows?” Draco refused to call the children “soulless,” even though that was the word Potter used. In part, that was about not gratifying Potter and justifying his martyr act. “They’ll still be born. And if you’re right about the Ministry and the kind of fear they have, then they’ll do what they can to kill those children. I can’t believe that you’ll leave _innocents_ to suffer as the price for the freedom to brood.”  
  
Potter made a slow noise Draco didn’t recognize at first. Then he realized it was Potter clenching his teeth. Draco smiled, pleased. He sat up and said, “I knew you wouldn’t. I knew I only had to mention the children, and you’d change your mind.”  
  
“I should walk away just to spite you,” Potter whispered. His hand wrung white over the doorknob.  
  
Draco sighed. “Now, when have you ever been that kind of person, Potter? Just because you’ve changed the kind of magic you’ve used doesn’t mean you’ve changed in your—” He stopped a second before he would have said “soul.” “Essence.”  
  
The way Potter’s eyes narrowed showed that he understood what word Draco had almost spoken, but he nodded instead and took his hand off the knob. “Fine,” he said. “I concede that I won’t leave soulless children to the fate the Ministry wants to inflict on them. But there’s nothing we can _do_ , Malfoy. Revealing the truth will make the Minister come down on us at once.”  
  
“And that’s all you’re afraid of?”  
  
“It’s not a matter of fear,” said Potter. He had his head bowed, and Draco could hardly see his face. Still, his tongue darted out to moisten his lips as Draco watched. “It’s—what will we _say_ , Malfoy? Who would believe us?”  
  
“If you showed them the same book and evidence that you have me, then they’ll believe you.”  
  
Potter snorted and shook his head. “That only works on an individual level, Malfoy. I can’t keep going up to individual people and saying they should read a whole book or listen to my story of trekking through the archives. And now that the Minister’s sealed my birth records, we can’t get to the best evidence.”  
  
Draco found himself watching Potter with a little smile. It was so _strange_ to him to see the courageous Gryffindor he’d known at Hogwarts reduced to this. He stretched his hands out lazily and murmured, “You’re underestimating your power.”  
  
“I don’t know any earth magic for convincing people, either—”  
  
Draco tired of the game abruptly. It was one thing when Potter was acting all shy and innocent, but actual ignorance was irritating. “I mean your name, Potter. Announce that you have something to say against the Ministry and everyone will flock to hear it. de Berenzan might manage to shut you down a time or two, but he’s politically astute enough to know that would only increase their fervor to hear what you have to say.”  
  
Potter’s lips pinched shut, and he looked mulishly in the other direction. Draco had to closed his eyes in response. So _now_ he was coming up against Potter’s famous reluctance to use his fame?  
  
Draco had thought, when he first heard about that, that Potter was only hoarding the impact of his brief public appearances and interviews. Yes, if he gave too many, he would become a common commodity and others were less likely to ask to talk to him. But this was the cause when he should have sacrificed the hoard, if he had it.  
  
Draco said, with as much patience as he could muster, “You don’t want—what? To tell people the truth?”  
  
“To tell them what to think. To have them think it just because I’m Harry Bloody Potter.”  
  
Draco rolled his eyes. “The wizarding public is fickle, Potter. Better you telling them what to think than de Berenzan, or Rita Skeeter.”  
  
“But they should have the right to make up their own minds.” Potter’s voice was low. “Both de Berenzan and Skeeter wanted those jobs—I mean, jobs that involved telling people what to think. They’ve _done_ things to earn that notice. Campaigned, or written articles. All I did was be born.”  
  
Draco rolled his eyes again, hard enough that he thought he might frighten Potter off. A second later, though, he realized Potter hadn’t even seen it. He was staring broodingly at his feet, or his hands, and didn’t pay attention to Draco.  
  
“You’ve done a lot more than be born, Potter,” Draco said. He hoped he wouldn’t have to recite a list of all Potter’s accomplishments. They would be here all night, not to mention that Draco hated the thought of pandering to Potter’s false modesty like that. “You defeated the Dark Lord. You ended the war.”  
  
Potter looked up, his face distant. “And you know why that happened. That tangle of coincidence about the wands. You were part of that yourself.”  
  
Draco rubbed his forehead. He didn’t have a headache right now, but much more of this business of dealing with Potter, and he thought he _would_. “Fine. But you did it, and how doesn’t much matter. Especially to the wizarding public.”  
  
“These are the people who turned on me before,” Potter said. “Usually the instant someone else had a new perspective. I can’t trust them to stay true.”  
  
Draco smiled. This was one objection he had anticipated, and he had the satisfaction of seeing Potter’s eyes glow a little as he watched Draco.   
  
“You didn’t have someone on your side who knew the press and how to manipulate them as well as I do,” Draco said. “I might not have chosen to follow in my father’s steps when it came to Death Eater beliefs, but he taught me well when it comes to staying on the good side of public opinion.”  
  
“Fine,” Potter said. “That doesn’t mean you can control the way that people tend to react to my name, or de Berenzan’s response.”  
  
Draco shook his head. “It’s not about control. It’s about channeling. I may not be able to make people stop screaming hysterically at the sound of your name, but I can teach you how to make them be quiet so they can hear what you have to say.”  
  
Potter was looking at him with a new light in his eyes now. Draco felt as though some old wound had eased when that happened. Or stopped hurting. Perhaps what he always wanted was Potter to look at him that way, as if he was a trusted adviser.  
  
Draco did manage to choke down some of the foolish things he might have said in response, and nodded. “I think I can show you how, Potter.”  
  
“Won’t some people question our alliance more than they’ll question de Berenzan?”  
  
It took Draco a moment to realize what he was probably referring to. Then he snorted. “It’s been a long time since I was only a Death Eater, Potter. No, at this point my word will lend strength to yours, and your word will lend strength to mine. Separately, people might feel free to discount us. Not when they see us together.”  
  
Potter wandered slowly back and forth. He was considering it, Draco could see, although probably putting thoughts through a filter that would stain and twist them.  
  
Soon enough, Potter said, “But you could still lose your reputation if it turned out the Minister was cleverer than we were. What’s in it for you? Revenge, but the revenge might not work out the way you want it to. And I know you’re not soulless.” He studied Draco skeptically, as though he would rip a mask off his face and reveal he was de Berenzan any moment.  
  
Draco shook his head slowly. “Some things I can’t explain, Potter. At least not so _you_ would understand them.”  
  
Amusingly enough, Potter accepted that, only shifting his shoulders as if the information was a new burden to put on them. “And the other reasons?”  
  
Draco thought of de Berenzan practicing his web-weaving in the Minister’s office, the way he panicked and got angry simultaneously at the thought of anyone challenging him, how he took credit for Draco’s victories and deplored the means of attaining them. A slow fire moved through his veins.  
  
“Some of it because the Minister has used the same tactics on you and me,” he said. “You _happened_ to have the power to make things uncomfortable for him, for the reasons you told me. I _built up_ that power. I won’t let him take it away.”  
  
Potter watched him with a pinched brow, as if wondering how killing soulless children would erode Draco’s power, but nodded. “Okay. Then what do we do first?”  
  
“ _Not_ go to your friends, Potter, I have to tell you,” Draco said, standing with a surge of energy. “They can’t keep quiet enough. Maybe in a few weeks, when we have enough backing, we can have Granger write some speeches for us.” Draco had never bothered to attend any of the demonstrations Granger set up in favor of Muggleborn rights or creature rights, but he’d heard they could strike the listeners like lightning.  
  
“Ron and Hermione will understand,” Potter said. “Is there anyone among your friends who would keep the secret?”  
  
Draco shook his head, regretting, for the first time, that he’d made the decision to work essentially as a lone Auror, refusing the partners the Ministry tried to assign. A partner whom he’d manipulated to stay loyal and docile to him would have been an asset right now. “Either because they wouldn’t keep the secret or because it’s you. Many of them still don’t remember you very fondly.”  
  
“Then where, O Wise Master of Knowledge?”  
  
“I like it when you call me ‘master,’” Draco said, and grinned as Potter hissed. “And I think it should be Elphias Doge.”  
  
Potter blinked a few times. “Who?”  
  
“Dumbledore’s old friend,” Draco said patiently. “Also a member of the Order of the Phoenix, from what I remember. Since the war, he’s taken up writing articles that are meant more or less as counters to the ones that Skeeter used to write. She’s moved on to books,” he added, as Potter continued to watch him with a dazed look in his eyes. “Other people have taken up her mantle now.”  
  
“Oh.” Potter tilted his head back and frowned at the ceiling. “You think he’d help me just because of the Order connection?”  
  
“More than most other people working at the papers would, yes.” Draco sighed a little. This explanation would be easier if Potter had simply _kept up_ with politics and the press since the war. “And besides, he’s always talking about injustice and how the Ministry needs to be reformed. This kind of cause would be right for him.”  
  
Potter nodded slowly, his eyes unfocused. “He’s more likely to believe us, too.”  
  
“Exactly.” Draco didn’t speak his _real_ thoughts about Doge, which was that the man was a paranoid bastard who saw conspiracies in things like the distribution of letters in the headlines of the _Daily Prophet_. “But he still has enough friends and a good reputation that people trust what he writes, and he knows what to do with a juicy tidbit.”  
  
“What about Luna?”  
  
It took Draco a moment to connect the name with a face he knew. “Lovegood? No one pays attention to the _Quibbler_ any more, Potter. They did back in our fifth year just because you were in it. Maybe we can go to her when we’re a little more established, but right now, it would only make us look bad. And we don’t want it to be easy for de Berenzan to label us as crazy.”  
  
“I still want to involve Luna.”  
  
“In a _while_ ,” Draco said. “Not right now. Hell, Potter, we don’t have a movement yet. We have an angry Auror and a man who was planning to disappear into the wilderness and live off his earth magic. We need support that more people will listen to.”  
  
Potter hesitated for a long moment, and then nodded slowly. “I want to keep talking to Luna open as an option.”  
  
“That’s fine.” Draco pulled his chair forwards. As far as he was concerned, they were going to involve _all_ of Potter’s friends sooner or later, and which ones got involved when was a matter of indifference to him. “Now, let’s think about how we’re going to do this…”  
  
Potter’s eyes flickered and took fire again as Draco talked, and Draco felt an odd satisfaction in his belly. Maybe that was one of the things he’d been aiming to do, in insisting that they should have a strategy meeting.  
  
 _Except why would I care what Potter’s eyes look like?_  
  
That was an interesting question…to be dealt with later.


	12. Meeting at the Hog's Head

“Thank you for coming.”  
  
Potter was the one who spoke, his voice hushed and warm. Draco let him. He didn’t have enough personal liking for Doge to sound sincere.  
  
“You’re welcome.” Doge looked back and forth between the two of them, his beard bristling out like the edge of a sword. Draco restrained his disgust, as usual, at the matted state of Doge’s moustache. You should tend _all_ the hair you grew on your face, not just some of it, he thought. “I heard that you’d vanished, Mr. Potter.”  
  
Potter inclined his head. He had a smile as dry as his laughter could sometimes be, Draco thought, and wondered how he hadn’t known about that before. “Well, I can come back for a good cause. And this is one.”  
  
“Mind telling me why?” Doge’s hands were moving as he spoke, drawing out parchment and ink with subtle movements that reminded Draco strongly of Rita Skeeter.  
  
“Yes.” Potter hesitated for a moment, then sat back with what was almost a toss of his shoulders, his mouth hardening. Draco stared at him. He had transformed his whole affect at once, and it was a war-leader that sat there, or someone who could be one.  
  
Of course, after a moment Draco’s wonder curdled in his stomach. _Then he could have done this at any time. And he only didn’t do it because of his bloody modesty or whatever name he would give his pride._  
  
Draco sat back with cool eyes and waited for Potter to finish setting up the charms that would guarantee them privacy. He didn’t intend to look away from Potter. Doge wouldn’t make any interesting moves as long as he was just scribbling, anyway.  
  
Potter leaned forwards and lifted his fringe away from the remains of the lightning bolt scar. “You know the rumors that my soul-mark was this scar, or hidden underneath it.”  
  
Doge eyed the scar for a minute. “Yes. I never did hear if it changed enough for you to find out what your mark was.”  
  
Potter shook his head and let the fringe fall back. “It never changed because I have no soul-mark.”  
  
Doge started, so that his readied quill scratched a long, useless line across the paper in front of him. “What?” he breathed.  
  
Potter waited, with an exquisite sense of timing, for the old man to get his breath back. Then he nodded. Draco felt a prickle of intrigue himself, watching Potter get ready to tell his story, and he knew all of it already.  
  
 _Why did I have to push him to take charge of telling his story? He could have done this. He might not have thought of Doge, he might have gone to Lovegood instead, but he could have done it. Why didn’t he stand and fight?_  
  
It was a question Draco would insist on having answered when they were out of here, but in the meantime, Potter was murmuring, “I was born without one. My birth records confirm it. No soul-mark present. And I’m even luckier than I knew to be sitting here with you today—luckier than Voldemort made me.” He pressed one hand to his heart as if it had jumped the way Draco’s automatically had at the sound of the Dark Lord’s name.  
  
“How—how are you alive?” Doge whispered.  
  
 _Does he know about the Ministry?_ Draco thought, with one tight glance at him. _No, I don’t think so. He probably jumped to the idea of someone without a soul-mark having a soul and wonders how Potter could be walking around breathing the way I did._  
  
“The Ministry missed me,” said Potter, smiling with a twisted edge to it and fielding Doge’s question, Draco had to admit, in a way that worked _really_ well. “They normally kill markless children. Something about how they’ll become Dark Lords with no other half of their souls to ground them, and supposedly no soul.” He shook his head. “But because of the confusion of the war, they missed me, and then someone would _really_ have noticed if they tried to kill me.”  
  
“You dare accuse them of this?” Doge asked.  
  
Potter pulled out the small book he’d shown Draco in answer. Doge only flipped through a few pages, but he grew so pale that Draco had to stifle concern he’d have a heart attack in the next little while.  
  
“You see,” Potter said, leaning back, a little pale himself. It was costing him something to talk openly like this, Draco thought. He had sweat on his forehead that Doge might not notice but Draco did. “They would have killed me if I’d been born and the birth registered normally.” He paused. “Or do you think it’s normal for a dozen children a year under twelve months old to die of heart attacks?”  
  
“I had no idea…” Doge’s hand shook as he laid the book down. “Of course, I do remember hearing that Grindelwald was found to have no soul-mark after he was arrested, but…”  
  
Potter’s mouth crooked sideways with pity. Draco knew exactly what he was going to say. Doge had been Dumbledore’s friend, and Potter would probably conceal what Dumbledore had done because of that.  
  
“That was the result of a cover-up,” Draco said. Potter shot him an intense glance, but Draco only had eyes for Doge at the moment, apparently. “By the arresting officials. They thought it would be better if no one ever realized the Dark Lord they’d captured had a soul-mark, in case it shook up confidence.” He nodded to the book. “You see that Minister Bagnold had to be convinced to allow the slaughter of the markless children. They didn’t want to increase doubt.”  
  
Potter stared at him. Draco raised his eyebrows back. _What? It’s a perfectly believable compromise, the truth while not blaming their precious Dumbledore. Potter can’t be_ that _politically savvy if he doesn’t think to do that._  
  
“So they cast a spell to hide his mark?” breathed Doge. “Bastards!”  
  
“They did,” said Draco, and smiled a little when he noticed Doge wasn’t questioning too closely who “they” were. “The Ministry feared that the notion of children without soul-marks would panic the masses. And they may not have known how to control people who didn’t have those marks and the guarantee of at least one other person they would sacrifice everything for.”  
  
Potter glanced sharply at him. Draco serenely ignored him. Yes, he knew that he was adding something on that Potter had never told him, but it was as good a guess at the Ministry’s motives as any. Draco thought that not _everyone_ could have believed the markless children would grow up to be Dark Lords, and this would provide some fuel on the fire of outrage.  
  
“This is good, this is good,” Doge muttered, scribbling. Then he paused and jerked his eyes up until he was looking at Potter’s face. “I mean—it’s _bad,_ I hope you don’t think I’m rejoicing in your misfortune—”  
  
“Not exactly that,” Potter said, and even though he should have been as annoyed at Doge as he was at Draco, there was only amusement in his eyes now as he propped his chin on his hand and looked across the table at Doge. Draco tried to damp his own resentment by picking up his tankard and taking a large swallow of butterbeer.   
  
“I fled from the wizarding world because I couldn’t think of what to do,” Potter continued. “And because I thought no matter what happened, it would harm my friends. The Minister didn’t want to hunt me down, because I was famous. He didn’t want the truth to come out, because I’m one of the few people who might manage to make people feel sympathy for the markless.”  
  
 _And you wouldn’t ever have figured that out if not for me,_ Draco thought in irritation, trying not to pluck at his lips with his fingers.  
  
Potter gave him a single look from the corner of his eye and went back to smiling at Doge. “The Minister wanted it all to go away. So did I. I thought, if I was in hiding, then it would.”  
  
“People would always have looked for you,” said Doge, and his eyes shone. “I would have, if only to make a story out of it, once I figured out that you weren’t coming back and you left of your own free will.”  
  
“But not if I was kidnapped?” Potter muttered under his breath. Doge didn’t react, which probably meant Potter hadn’t wanted him to hear, and he hadn’t. Draco bit his lip in amusement and started to speak himself, but Potter interrupted.  
  
“Auror Malfoy, in fact, convinced me it would be better for everyone if I returned. For me and the other markless people I could help in the future and the Ministry’s innocent victims that are already dead.”  
  
Draco started. He was used to recasting his own motives in more altruistic ways, but not to having someone else do it for him.  
  
Potter turned his head, and Draco saw the ruthless little smile on his lips. This was payback for the way he had forced Potter into open battle, probably. Draco looked back and only raised his eyebrows slowly.  
  
That didn’t irritate Potter as much as he had hoped it would. In fact, Potter only faced Doge again and said, “I know Auror Malfoy’s reputation precedes him, but you have to look past that. You have to look at the _real_ reasons he became an Auror as good as he is.”  
  
Doge leaned forwards, expression like a bird hypnotized by a snake. “What are those reasons, Mr. Potter?”  
  
“Compassion,” Potter whispered.  
  
Draco stared at the ceiling. It was the only way to keep from shouting.  
  
“Compassion?” Doge at least showed some of those instincts that were the reason Draco had chosen him to hear the news first, leaning back and studying Draco with a skeptical eye.  
  
“Yes,” said Potter, and assumed a pious expression that most people would see through in a minute. Then again, Draco hadn’t chosen Doge to spread their news because he was _good_ at seeing through shit like that. “You don’t know it, but Auror Malfoy works behind the scenes to take cases that he can handle quickly and efficiently. There are _some_ Aurors…not a lot, but some…who would let the criminals they chase down suffer. Or other people suffer. Because the longer they put off capturing someone, the bigger the sensation they make when they _do_ capture them, see.”  
  
Doge was nodding with wide, wise, fascinated eyes, which meant Draco was free to glare at Potter. Potter maintained an innocent expression, oblivious of his glare. He was going on to explain to Doge this entirely fictitious story about how Draco had known something was wrong with Potter’s case the minute he was assigned to it and went digging to uncover the unhappy truth.  
  
And the thing was, it could be made true with such a little twist of reality. Draco _had_ thought something was wrong and dug into Potter’s case with unusual tenacity. That it was because he wanted to know what was going on—  
  
Well, even the imaginary Draco in Potter’s story wanted to know what was going on. The deeper motives were different, but the surface ones were the same. And Draco had had long practice in pretending to the public and even fellow Ministry workers that he was concerned about injustice. You had to mouth the words if you wanted to get ahead in the Ministry.  
  
Hell, _de Berenzan_ mouthed them.  
  
“And so you see, he convinced me that I had to come forth and speak up for others,” said Potter, and let his head droop a little as he sighed. “I have a bad habit of assuming that something only applies to me and working behind the scenes to just mitigate that, you know? But Auror Malfoy reminded me of my wider social responsibility.”  
  
 _Butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth,_ Draco thought, as he watched Potter’s eyes cut towards him and linger there, wide and sparkling. _And the Minister was right to be afraid of you. You could do a lot, if you wanted. Take his position. Send him to Azkaban. Even if you didn’t reveal the whole truth about what happened, you could probably do that._  
  
“What made you decide this was a cause you wanted to throw your weight behind, Auror Malfoy?”  
  
Draco had to take up a serious, thoughtful expression and lean forwards to answer Doge’s question. The whole time, he could feel Potter watching him smugly—with at least as much smugness as Draco had felt when he’d managed to wrangle Potter into acting publicly—and his neck prickled with it.  
  
 _We’re going to finish the interview and convince Doge that we’re the best of allies, oh, yes. And then, Potter, you’re going to tell me_ why _you never acted with the strength de Berenzan fears. It’s not lack of intelligence, the way I thought. It’s not even lack of caring about other people the way you’re trying to portray it as._  
  
 _And I never thought you were a coward._  
  
*  
  
“So tell me why.”  
  
Potter didn’t pretend to misunderstand him. They were back in Draco’s home, and after a few minutes of Potter pacing restlessly around the drawing room, Draco had shoved Potter at a nearby chair and sat down to stare threateningly at him. Maybe Potter was tired of putting off confrontations himself, because he sat.  
  
“It was because I’ve found so few causes that I could _serve_ ,” Potter said. He slid his fingers over his jaw as if he was tracking the progress of the stubble there. “I couldn’t believe in a lot of them, like the people who wanted me to campaign against Muggles. And some people only wanted me there to lend credibility to something that was a trick or a scam.”  
  
“But you would have found causes if you had only looked to your friends,” Draco said. He could feel a freezing sheen creep across his bones, and tried to keep his face as calm and composed as he could. He wouldn’t accomplish anything if he drove Potter off now. More to the point, he wouldn’t get the answers he wanted. “I’m sure Granger could have found you something working for magical creatures where even _you_ couldn’t have objected.”  
  
“Yes,” said Potter, tilting his head back so that he was mostly looking at the ceiling instead of Draco. “And what would have happened once they got used to me as a spokesman?”  
  
“You’d help Granger with her crusade?” Draco could feel a soft itching begin on the back of his hands, the way it always did when he was irritated.  
  
“They would have decided I could help them with _everything_ ,” Potter said, and eyed Draco. “Oh, not Ron and Hermione,” he added, maybe misunderstanding the look on Draco’s face. “But lots of other people. I could put them off as long as I made it clear I didn’t want to speak up for _anybody_. But if I was going to take a part in public politics, then they’d start bothering me about working for them soon.”  
  
“It’s not as though anyone was asking you to run for the Wizengamot or become Minister, Potter.”  
  
“Shows how much you know,” Potter muttered, and tilted his head the other way again, nestling it against the back of the chair. _I don’t suppose there’s many soft seats in the caves he’s been living in,_ Draco thought snidely. “I have a collection of letters at home all begging me to stand to the Wizengamot. I started keeping them because Hermione didn’t believe I was getting them, either. There were ninety at last count.”  
  
“But—you’re too young.” Draco said the only thing he could think of.  
  
Potter opened one eye. “And there are exceptions and loopholes in the law. Or don’t you think the Wizengamot would use them if it meant they could be sure I was safely under control?”  
  
“Under control? When you would have one of the most powerful positions in the wizarding world?”  
  
“What do you think would happen to someone who’s a member of the Wizengamot really young, and more because of prestige than anything he did on his own?”   
  
Draco narrowed his eyes. The immediate response to that, the usual one, would be that Potter had defeated the Dark Lord, and that was worthy of being honored with a promotion to the Wizengamot if anything was. But then he thought through the politics, and the way that Potter sat with patient eyes fixed on him.  
  
“You would be constrained,” he said slowly. “You would have to spend a lot of time reporting to meetings and trials and committees and the like.”  
  
Potter nodded. “And people wouldn’t write to me as often. Or, rather, different people would. I wouldn’t hear as much gossip. I wouldn’t have as much chance of hearing things outside of Ministry channels. Hell, they might even have tried to detach me from my friends.” He shook his head. “No, Malfoy, I didn’t want that. And while I don’t think they could actually _force_ me into it, people would have clamored for it, and not understood when I didn’t take the position. I didn’t want the public to turn bitter on me, either. It was bad enough when it was the population of Hogwarts.”  
  
Draco stared at him. Potter _might_ be more ambitious, he _might_ be more intelligent, than Draco had assumed. He had simply hidden it. A tactic Draco would never have expected from the kind of person he’d thought Potter was.  
  
He turned his gaze away, frowning a little, and said as casually as he could, “What convinced you to stand up now?”  
  
“You did.”  
  
Draco snapped his gaze back. There was something strange and soft in Potter’s voice, like clouds.  
  
Potter stood up and sauntered forwards. He stopped a step away from Draco and examined him from head to toes.  
  
Draco should have been upset about such a leisurely examination that implied he existed for Potter’s pleasure. He knew it. But instead, he only sat there with his mouth a little dry and his heart leaping.  
  
“I would have given up if not for you,” Potter said, and tipped his head calmly forwards, until the angle of his face hid his eyes again. “Thanks, Malfoy. I owe you.”  
  
And he was gone into the darkness at the back of the flat before Draco could say anything. Draco sank slowly back, baffled, and shook his head a little.   
  
So that was Potter’s gratitude.  
  
He thought he could get used to it.  
  
Yet, at the same time, there was another prickling itch gnawing him beneath the breastbone, urging him to continue speaking, to go find Potter and ask him the answers to some more questions.  
  
It was a pity Draco didn’t know what they were.  
  



	13. The Old Crowd

“He wants to bring in who.”  
  
Potter’s dismay at the message Draco had had to give him was even better than Draco had thought. Potter closed his eyes and leaned his head against the fireplace behind him. He gravitated to the things in Draco’s home made of stone, Draco had noticed. In fact, right now he had one hand resting on the mantel as if he wanted to count all the tiny cracks in the marble and think about how he’d vanish through them.  
  
“That’s what Doge said,” Draco murmured. “Not me.” He hesitated, then added, “I take it you know this…Auntie Muriel?”  
  
“Only briefly. Only enough not to want to know her any more than I do.” Potter opened his eyes and shook his head. “She’s related to Ron. A great-aunt, I think. She’s loud and unpleasant and she got into a fight with Doge at Bill and Fleur’s wedding. Why does Doge want to talk to her?”  
  
“Because she dispenses gossip with the best of them, apparently. And has a huge gossip network. And knows what rumors are going to be about almost before they happen.”  
  
“She sounds like my nemesis.”  
  
“How dare you give away the place I thought _I_ occupied, Potter.”  
  
Potter smiled faintly. Then he said, “Would she actually talk about me sympathetically, though? The one time I met her, she seemed to believe everything Rita Skeeter wrote. She certainly wouldn’t believe Doge when I tried to defend Dumbledore.”  
  
“That obviously shows she’s a woman of sterling good sense,” Draco began. He held up his hands when Potter glared at him. “But she’s connected in important ways for _us_ , like I said, and she’s a measure of the common people. What she believes, they’ll believe. We just need to get her on our side.”  
  
“Which might be impossible.” Potter splayed his hands through his hair, which made it so messy that Draco had to glance away lest the sight inspire nightmares for him. “Do you think it would be easier if I stayed here?”  
  
“What? Instead of be at the meeting?” Draco rolled his eyes. “I’m not the one who can inspire them to march on the Ministry, Potter.”  
  
“I didn’t mean it that way,” Potter said, and sighed in the exasperating fashion he had. “I just mean that I might poison Muriel against the cause before anyone else can open their mouths, if she sees me there.”  
  
“You have a political mind when you want to,” Draco said. He grinned as he watched Potter struggle with a response. There was part of Potter that would forever think that an insult, probably. “But in this case, you need to weigh things in the balance. Your presence will at least persuade her that we’re serious, right?”  
  
“I don’t know. She seemed pretty determined to think Dumbledore was a liar during the war.”  
  
“You met her once. You don’t know that much about her. If Doge says we need her, then we do.”  
  
Potter only nodded once. “I wonder who else Doge is going to have us recruit,” he did mutter. “Are they all going to be gossipy old biddies?”  
  
Draco graciously pretended not to hear. “Come here and help me decide what we’re going to tell them,” he commanded. “Not all about your earth magic, I know that, but we need to decide whether you’ll talk in detail about the Elder Wand or not, and how you mastered the magic of the human-forged stone tools.”  
  
And Potter _did_ come over to him, flop into a chair, and talk to him. Draco thought he managed to hide most of his beaming smugness about that, but maybe not all of it, if the suspicious glances Potter shot him were any indication.  
  
But knowing he could say something like that to Harry Potter and be obeyed…  
  
It was more fulfilling than Draco could have dreamed.  
  
*  
  
“ _Merlin_.”  
  
Draco did have to raise his eyebrows when he looked out over the room Doge had given him the Apparition coordinates for, a huge gathering hall in an unfamiliar house. It _did_ look as though most of the heads bobbing around before them were grey or white or bald, and all the beards on the men were long and white, and all the robes were old-fashioned.  
  
There was even a woman with a _vulture_ on her hat, which Draco stared at in horrified fascination before he remembered why it seemed familiar. Longbottom had dressed his Boggart of Professor Snape in that hat—his grandmother’s. Draco shook his head, a little dazed. Of course Augusta Longbottom fit the profile that Doge was trying to construct, old and suspicious of the Ministry and inclined to pay attention to rumors, but he hadn’t thought Doge would reach out to someone so closely connected to Potter’s friends.  
  
 _Although I suppose, when you add together how close Potter is to the Weasleys, Auntie Muriel probably isn’t any more distant,_ Draco thought, and patiently waited for the crowd to notice them. They’d Apparated onto a balcony along one wall, close to a ceiling that had a much simpler version of the enchantment in Hogwarts’s Great Hall on it. This one only projected beaming sunlight, no matter what the weather outside did. Draco watched it and picked out strands of weakening in the charm until he heard the expected chorus of gasps.  
  
 _Performance time._  
  
Draco glanced at Potter. He half-thought that he might have to drag Potter out there after him, considering how reluctant he’d been to do this, but it seemed Potter was perfectly capable of getting over his reluctance when he didn’t have a choice. His head was up instead, his eyes distant, and his face visibly changing expression.  
  
 _He’s lying with his face,_ Draco realized abruptly. _He’s giving them what they’d expect to see. The tormented hero. Or the shy one._ Potter’s eyes and smile were still changing, turning sadder than Draco had expected. He couldn’t tell exactly where they would end up.  
  
 _Potter is so much more Slytherin than he’s let on that—_  
  
Draco didn’t know what followed “that.” He shook his head and stepped behind Potter as he went to the edge of the balcony and locked his hands in place on the railing, bowing his head a little. That seemed to be all the signal the old witches and wizards beneath them needed to go quiet.  
  
Then Potter looked up and said softly, “Thank you for coming. I know you’ve heard a few hints from Elphias Doge about what I have to tell you, but not much.”  
  
There was a fervent rustling and bobbing of hats from beneath them. No, they didn’t know, Draco translated that, and they wanted to.  
  
Potter reached up and drew aside his fringe from his scar with what looked like a practiced, natural gesture. “I know the rumors flying around about my scar,” he said. “That it was my soul-mark. That it covered my soul-mark. That it had changed my mark somehow.”  
  
He dropped his eyes and took a deep breath. Even Draco leaned in for a second, until he realized what Potter was doing and snapped himself out of the spell.  
  
“But in truth,” Potter said, raising his gaze instead and using a trick of letting his eyes rest on many points of the room that must have convinced most people he was looking straight at them, “I have no mark. I was born without one.”  
  
That provoked outcries and questions, and the old woman with a hideous hat and hair of dusty white who must be Weasley’s Auntie Muriel asked the loudest question of all. “Then how are you still alive, Mr. Potter?”  
  
“I don’t know,” said Potter, with a wounded, fragile smile, and he struck the pose they’d agreed on, letting his head dangle a little while leaving his grip on the balcony railing seemingly the only thing to support him. “I suppose I should count myself lucky that I’ve only been deprived of destined love, not the ability to breathe and live.”  
  
There were murmurs, of course, but none of the doubting ones that Draco had more than half expected. He supposed they were probably more inclined to believe in love than a lot of people; few of them were people of his family’s political stamp, and many had been Gryffindors or Hufflepuffs.  
  
“There are other children born with this—lack of a soul-mark?” asked Augusta Longbottom then. She was frowning. Draco wondered if she was thinking of the possibility for her own grandchildren. Rumor had it that Longbottom himself was fairly serious in his courting of that Abbott chit.  
  
“Many of them,” said Potter. “But—” He paused dramatically.  
  
That was Draco’s cue. Potter might still have the lingering reputation around him of someone who spread lies and challenged the papers and was the subject of public gossip more often than he started it, especially for people like Auntie Muriel. That was where Draco came in.  
  
“There would be many of them if they survived their first year,” said Draco grimly. He knew he looked every part the polished Auror as he stepped forwards. Nonetheless, some people still narrowed their eyes at him. Just as Potter had a lingering reputation, so did he.  
  
But Draco didn’t slow down right now to worry about that. He and Potter had judged things like this to a nicety, and he would have to hope that they had judged rightly. He held out a hand as though to clasp a rope and use it to pull someone to safety.  
  
Potter fell slightly back and to his side, providing a solid support at his flank.  
  
“But they don’t,” said Draco, and lowered his voice and looked intensely from face to face, his own version of Potter’s trick. He chose the people whose gazes he caught carefully, but Auntie Muriel and Augusta Longbottom were the first. “Because the Ministry kills them.”  
  
There was an immediate explosion of clucking, but Draco didn’t mind. There was a reason for the contracts Doge had had them sign before they’d been allowed in here.  
  
He waited until he was sure at least some people were straining to hear instead of shouting themselves, and continued, “I had no idea of the horror being perpetrated by our Ministry until Mr. Potter informed me. He was the one who discovered that other children have been born without soul-marks and killed because the Ministry thinks they might become Dark Lords. Note that they don’t know for _certain_ that they would. They only _suspect,_ because some Dark Lords and Ladies in the past were born without soul-marks.”  
  
“But how could someone survive without a soul-mark?” Muriel insisted. “There’s no way it could happen!”  
  
Potter shook his head a little, drawing attention back to him. “Have you heard of the rain unicorns?” he asked. “The people who live with them, the ones who supply most of the unicorn parts to Britain, have no soul-marks themselves. Rain unicorns would devour those who had marks—which means most wizards and witches find it useless to try and treat with them. Their allies are rare, but they do exist.”  
  
“ _I’ve_ never heard of them,” said Muriel, in a way that made it imply it was the unicorns’ loss.  
  
“I have,” said an older woman with wide, startled eyes who Draco vaguely remembered seeing at Hogwarts when he took his OWLS exams. After a second, he recalled her name: Griselda Marchbanks, who had just resigned from the Wizengamot and the Wizarding Examinations Authority a few years ago. His respect for Doge grew. Draco wouldn’t have thought of asking Marchbanks, on the theory that she simply wouldn’t respond to anything that went against the Ministry. “I didn’t know they were still alive. You think—you think they don’t affect soulless people, Mr. Potter?”  
  
Draco tensed. He had coached Potter on his tendency to refer to people without soul-marks as soulless. That could be something the _Ministry_ thought of them as. But it would only panic and confuse people if Potter insisted on using the word.  
  
“They don’t have soul-marks,” Potter said gently. “Which means they don’t have soulmates or the ability to use wand magic. I don’t myself. But it’s the combination of the two things that makes a soul-mark, and that makes people vulnerable to rain unicorns.”  
  
“Oh.” Madam Marchbanks considered him, then turned to Draco. “What makes you think there aren’t already people working to stop this, Auror Malfoy?”  
  
“Because people like our _dear_ Minister keep the birth of markless children a secret,” Draco responded equitably. It wouldn’t be wise to attack the Ministry power structure in front of someone like Marchbanks, who had worked with and for it for so many years, but an individual she probably didn’t like either was acceptable. “They’re rare in the first place.  
  
“That doesn’t mean that some people haven’t doubted the supposed advantage of killing children without soul-marks,” Draco said, and nodded to the side, where Potter was taking out the book he had shown Draco. “This is some propaganda written a few decades ago to convince Minister Bagnold that it was necessary when she questioned it. Copies of this book are available for anyone who wishes to read it.”  
  
“I’ll want one,” said Madam Marchbanks, standing straight and tall. There was a shimmering expression in her eyes that made Draco conceal a smile. He suspected she’d just been waiting for a crusade in order to relieve her boredom.  
  
“And me,” said Mrs. Longbottom.  
  
Auntie Muriel sniffed. “I suppose I’ll _have_ to read it. Even though I suspect Mr. Potter here of making yet another attempt to discredit the Ministry.” From the way her eyes shone, she wouldn’t mind reading that.  
  
Draco hid a quiet snort, and turned to Potter. Potter nodded and held the book out to Draco. “You’ll have to do the honors,” he added when Draco blinked. “I can’t anymore.”  
  
 _Of course. He can’t copy it because he can’t do wand magic, and he hasn’t found a way to substitute earth magic for that yet._ Draco hid a wince as he cast the necessary spell, and then wondered why he’d winced. Potter had chosen this himself. Draco knew he _could_ have taken up the Elder Wand, but he hadn’t wanted to.  
  
 _No need to feel sorry for him. He didn’t choose to be born without a soul-mark, but he chose everything else._  
  
As the small books multiplied on the balcony, Muriel called up another loud question. “Is this the reason you broke up with my great-niece, Mr. Potter? Because you didn’t have a soul?”  
  
Potter tensed, but Draco thought he was the only one who noticed; he was so close that he couldn’t help but notice when Potter’s little hairs seemed to stand on end. Potter’s voice was rational and mild. “No, madam. It’s because she had a soul-mark, and she deserved to have someone who loved her the way she was meant to be loved.”  
  
 _Idiot,_ Draco thought, shaking his head and mouthing the word at Potter.  
  
But probably all the Weasleys came of the school that thought soulmates always married, because Muriel didn’t ask another question. Mrs. Longbottom did instead. “How does the Ministry account for You-Know-Who having a soul, when Dark Lords usually don’t?”  
  
As Potter started another explanation about how most of the Ministry people _didn’t_ know, and the information about markless children was restricted to the highest level of the flunkies, Draco watched him silently. Potter spoke with fluid motions of his hands. He had pain on his face, but it was the sort of pain that would make things more convincing to their audience. And Draco had already thought about how well he could lie with his expressions.  
  
 _Well, he isn’t going to lie to me._  
  
*  
  
“I think the meeting went well,” said Potter, with a little sigh, as he sat down in the chair near the fireplace.  
  
Draco cast a spell that would make sure no one had managed to intrude into the house and no one was currently eavesdropping on them with a charm, and then turned and frowned at Potter. “You still believe that nonsense.”  
  
“What? About being soulless?” Potter sat up, ready for battle. “If you would listen again to the evidence I have, and the way I talked about the rain unicorns ignoring the people who trade with them—hell, even _Dementors_ ignored me, and you know how drawn to me they always were before now—”  
  
“I didn’t mean _that_ nonsense,” Draco cut in. “Although it is. That nonsense about how only true soulmates determined by soul-marks can love each other, so you’re going to be alone for the rest of your life because you don’t have one.”  
  
Potter blinked and fell silent. Then he said, “Maybe not alone. Maybe just bereft of someone who can understand me fully and completely.”  
  
Draco rolled his eyes. “Hasn’t it hit you yet that you have extremely romantic notions about that? As pure and stupid, in their own way, as the Ministry’s notions about children without soul-marks being Dark Lords.”  
  
“You can’t compare me to their stupidity!”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“Because my friends found each other, okay?” Potter bounded to his feet and took a turn or two around the room. “Ron and Hermione, and Neville and Hannah, and Luna and Rolf, and George and Angelina, and Bill and Fleur—all of them are soulmates, and I’m almost the only one who doesn’t have _someone_ —”  
  
“Ginny Weasley hasn’t found her soulmate yet,” Draco interrupted. “And I know who mine is, but I’m never going to go to her. She’s useless. Stop being an idiot, Potter. Stop martyring yourself. The Ministry would be eager enough to do that for you, if de Berenzan wasn’t such a ditherer. Concentrate on what’s _really_ important.”  
  
“Politics?” Potter turned a weary gaze on him.  
  
“Life,” said Draco. “Life without some vision of perfect love that isn’t going to come.”  
  
Potter looked away and shook his head. “Maybe if my friends didn’t have it,” he whispered. “Maybe if my parents hadn’t been soulmates, and everyone didn’t want to tell me about the moment when they realized it. But as it is—what hurts most of all isn’t knowing that the Ministry wants to kill me and I can’t use a wand. What hurts is knowing that true and perfect love _is_ possible for some people, and I’m never going to have it.”  
  
“Stop being so dramatic, Potter. If—”  
  
“Yes, I’m being dramatic and a martyr,” said Potter. “Excuse me for the night, if you will.”  
  
And he reached over, and touched the stones of Draco’s fireplace, and disappeared through them.  
  
Draco hadn’t known he could do that. He gaped at the fireplace for a second, and then closed his mouth firmly. Any moment, he would start saying they’d betrayed him, and that would only put him in Potter’s insane company.  
  
He turned away, shaking his head. He had to think about what they’d accomplished today to get his mind off Potter, and the fact that the conversation hadn’t gone the way he wanted it to.  
  
Even though Potter had agreed with him.  
  
 _It wasn’t the agreement I wanted,_ Draco thought, and then didn’t know what that meant.


	14. Catching Up to Them

Draco started and found himself standing next to his bed and clutching his wand, staring at the wall of his bedroom. On the other side of that wall was his front door, and someone was pounding on it hard enough to make all his instincts shriek in alarm.  
  
“We _know_ you’re there, Malfoy. And you’re going to tell us what’s going on with Harry!”  
  
 _Weasley’s voice._ Draco grimaced and shook his head as he rapidly dressed. Someone must have betrayed part of the truth to Potter’s friends. Perhaps Doge himself. He loved sending anonymous letters and “hints” to people he was supposed to be keeping secrets from. He couldn’t betray most of the secrets Draco and Potter had given him until he was ready to write his article, but he could spit out Draco’s name in connection with them.  
  
 _And he’ll always do it where he thinks it’ll cause the most chaos,_ Draco thought grimly as he opened his door to Weasley.  
  
Or Weasley and Granger, it turned out. When Weasley tried to barrel in, Granger put a hand on his arm that restrained him. She nodded to Draco with a set, respectful expression on her face. She was going to bite her tongue if it killed her, Draco thought.  
  
“We got a letter saying you knew something about Harry and where he’d gone, Malfoy. That’s why we’re here.”  
  
“You always trust anonymous letters, then?” Draco leaned on his doorframe, considering the merits of telling them. On the one hand, they would be ridiculously annoying until they found out some part of the truth.  
  
On the other hand, they probably wouldn’t approve of the “Slytherin” tactics Draco wanted Potter to adopt. And they might get in the way of the things that would actually spare Potter the worst of his pain.  
  
“How did you know it was anonymous, Malfoy?”  
  
“It had to be, or you would have sought out the letter-writer instead.” Draco had no intention of telling them about Doge until and unless he had no choice. He studied them again, then shrugged. “Come in.”  
  
“Thank you, Malfoy,” said Granger, proving she’d grown in grace and dignity since Hogwarts, and led Weasley in. A timely frown at him prevented him from saying something Draco would probably have wanted to shred him for, and she turned to nod to Draco. “Do you know where Harry is?”  
  
“No. But I know he’s safe and sane.”   
  
“How can you know that if you don’t know where he _is_?”  
  
“Hush, Ron.” Granger turned back to Draco with enough calculation in her eyes that he was glad he’d approached her on such a cautious footing. “I think you can understand why that reassurance might not be enough for us.”  
  
“I’m only obeying his wishes.” Draco spread his arms and assumed his most innocent expression. That might not work on Granger, either, from the way she arched her eyebrow at him. “He didn’t want you involved. He was worried about what you would do when you learned the truth.”  
  
“How _could_ he be?”  
  
“Something about powerful enemies, and Gryffindors dashing in to get killed.” Draco leaned back and smiled a little at her as he shook his head. “I couldn’t understand all of it. Then again, I don’t have Gryffindor friends who might dash in and get killed.”  
  
Weasley opened his mouth to say something, and Granger’s hand landed heavily on his arm. Draco was just as glad. Weasley had probably been about to say that he was surprised Draco had any friends at all, and although the suspicion of the words was bad, the memory would have been worse and might have destroyed his desire to work with Potter’s friends at all.  
  
“That can’t be the only reason,” Granger said, and looked around as if deciding where to sit. Draco didn’t plan to invite her, but wasn’t surprised when she found a chair anyway, and perched on it expectantly. “If you’ve spoken to him, tell us what he said.”  
  
 _A lot of things I have no intention of sharing with you._ If Potter wanted his friends to know he was markless, he would have to tell them himself. Draco wasn’t interested in dealing with the disbelief and anger his words would provoke.  
  
“I can’t remember the words of the conversation precisely. I’m not a Pensieve—”  
  
“Do you have one we can use?”  
  
Draco stared at Granger emotionlessly until she seemed to remember how matters stood between them, and flushed a little, looking at her hands. “Right,” she whispered. “That might be too much to hope for.”  
  
“I think it should be up to Potter how much he engages you. The only thing I know right now is that he didn’t do it immediately, so I won’t tell you anything else, either.” Draco shrugged. “He’s the one who has to make that decision.”  
  
“Since when do _you_ respect Harry’s wishes that much, Malfoy?”  
  
“ _Ron_ ,” Granger hissed, but Draco thought the question worth answering, if only because it would give him another way to taunt Weasley.  
  
“I must admit, it’s a little strange to find myself doing so,” said Draco blandly, and smiled at the surprise on Weasley’s face. “But I was assigned the case by the Ministry, and that seemed a good enough reason not to abandon it at first.” He leaned nearer and lowered his voice, and they unconsciously imitated him. “And then I learned something so strange, so wondrous, about Potter, that…”  
  
It took them a second to realize he had no intention of continuing. Then Weasley snapped, “Well?”  
  
“And, I don’t think I should tell you,” said Draco, ducking his head and doing his best innocent impression. “That’s where the information that he wanted to keep to himself comes in. It’s his decision to share.”  
  
“ _Malfoy_ ,” said Granger, in what was probably the exact tone she’d used to scold someone she caught breaking curfew when she was a prefect. Weasley had been reduced to incoherent spluttering. “You can’t—you can’t build us up like that and then drop us.”  
  
“What laws of nature or magic say I can’t?”  
  
“Harry wouldn’t want you to treat us like this. If you were going to invite us in at all, you should have included other things in the invitation.”  
  
“I don’t know whether or not he would want me to,” said Draco honestly. Potter might be happy Draco had spared him the task of confession to his best friends, or he might be angry about it. Draco really didn’t know. “What I can say is that both of you don’t have his confidence or permission yet. I wouldn’t get cocky until you do.”  
  
“There’s no need for that, Malfoy.”  
  
Draco started badly. Potter had flowed out of the stones of his fireplace and was advancing across the floor towards them, eyes resting on his best friends as if he’d been hungry for the sight of their faces.  
  
 _So now_ they’re _his best support? When they might make his position harder or more complicated because they insist on being told secrets that don’t belong to them?_  
  
Only a second later did Draco think of what should have been his _first_ concern, that Potter could slip so easily into his house through the protective spells that squirmed and danced in a net around Draco’s walls. Draco chewed his lip and said nothing. There was little he could say, now that Potter had turned to face his friends.  
  
“Harry,” Weasley said. He nodded to him, all calm and placid suddenly, as if the mere glimpse of Potter walking around and breathing was sufficient to reassure Weasley that there was really nothing wrong with him. “How are you? Did you come back because you couldn’t stand being shouted at by Malfoy?”  
  
“How are you, Harry?” Granger was calmer, kinder, but her eyes never left Potter’s face. “Is there something we can help you with?”  
  
Potter studied them for a second, and then said, “I’m not sure.” He stepped back so he was leaning against the wall, about halfway between Draco and his friends, where he could see both of them. “Can you work well with Malfoy?”  
  
“What does _he_ have to do with this, mate?”  
  
“He was the Auror assigned to chase me. And he’s helping me go up against the Ministry because he doesn’t care for the Minister, either.”  
  
“This is some kind of problem with de Berenzan?” Weasley sounded more outraged by the second. Draco wished he knew of some way he could bottle that outrage and turn it against his own enemies. “Is he the one who planted those Dark Arts books so he could accuse you of crimes you didn’t commit?”  
  
“Maybe the question I should have asked is whether you can work with _me_ ,” Potter muttered. “No, I collected those Dark Arts books on my own, Ron.”  
  
His friends stared at him in appalled silence. Draco blinked. He had thought Granger would immediately begin asking questions and demanding answers, but she sat there as frozen as Weasley.   
  
“But—you can’t have, mate,” Weasley finally said. “You’re not that kind of person.”  
  
“I’m a _person_ ,” said Potter tightly, and Draco saw the way his body and mood had shifted, “who’s sick and tired of not having what everyone else has.” He slapped his own forehead hard, but Draco was the one who winced for him. “This lightning bolt isn’t my soul-mark. It isn’t covering my soul-mark. I don’t have one.”  
  
“That’s not possible, though,” Granger said. “I started looking that up when you first disappeared, Harry, because I knew you were talking a lot about soulmates and you broke up with Ginny because she wasn’t yours. But no one is born without a soul-mark.”  
  
“Most people who are don’t live long, true. But that’s because the Ministry kills them, not because they simply die of having no soul.”  
  
In the moments before Weasley and Granger both erupted into shouting, Draco thought in resignation, _Well, that’s torn it._  
  
*  
  
“Fine, maybe Dementors don’t affect you anymore, but that could be because you got rid of the piece of _Voldemort’s_ soul, mate! It doesn’t mean that you don’t have one!”  
  
Draco sipped his tea and did his best to concentrate on the report in front of him that his superiors wanted him to investigate for signs of corruption. The writer was a very junior Auror with strong family connections to some wizards punished in the past for smuggling and vengeance cursing. The Head Auror didn’t entirely believe that this particular Auror was writing the truth.  
  
The problem was, the conversation going on beside him was a lot more fascinating than a report replete with self-defensive remarks and spelling errors.  
  
“I’ve given you the evidence I have. And I’ve told you the truth, Ron.” Potter sounded tired. “Short of casting that spell George taught me that turns my clothing transparent and spinning around in front of you, I don’t know how to convince you that I don’t have a soul-mark.”  
  
“No need for _that_!”  
  
“Right. But now will you believe me?”  
  
Draco sneaked a look at Potter. He was still standing in front of his friends with his hands on his hips and a frown on his face. Draco snapped his eyes back to the report in front of him when it occurred to him that he was a little disappointed Potter wouldn’t be casting that spell that turned his clothes transparent.  
  
 _Keep your foolish reactions to yourself._ It was good advice when his father had given it to him in childhood, and it remained good advice now.  
  
“It just seems…incredible,” Granger said. Her hand rested on the book that Potter had found addressed to Minister Bagnold, and her face looked younger than it really was as she stared up at him. Draco concealed a sneer. He supposed it was more distressing to Granger than the average person that the Ministry had turned out not to be trustworthy.  
  
Honestly, the only thing Draco had had trouble believing was that Potter didn’t have a soul-mark and didn’t have a soul, and some of the consequences that implied. Not that the Ministry would do stupid things in response to a truth so incredible.  
  
“I know it does.” There was Potter being all soft and conciliating and giving his friends second chances again, and Draco really had to keep from rolling his eyes with a vicious effort. “But it’s true. There are records in the Ministry archives about the children born without soul-marks who all died of heart attacks before they were one year old.”  
  
“Well, maybe not having a soul-mark weakens your heart,” Weasley offered.  
  
Potter snapped his head to the side, making Weasley flush with the light of his eyes. “Then why am _I_ here?”  
  
“You’ve always been extraordinary, though, mate. You could have a lot of other traits and things like that that someone else wouldn’t have. Because you had a—a bit of soul in you and the Elder Wand and all.” Weasley glanced anxiously at Draco, who continued to ignore the conversation as if he found it uninteresting.  
  
In truth, though, Weasley and Granger’s reactions were excellent examples of the way that a lot of ordinary people in the wizarding world would probably react when they heard the news. It was just another example of Harry Potter’s extreme specialness, or it meant nothing because he had survived. Draco hoped that Potter was taking note and crafting arguments in response to it.  
  
From the way Potter leaned into Weasley’s face, though, this individual contest was still too important to him to take advantage of the instruction that Weasley provided. “Listen to me, Ron,” he whispered. “Would I lie?”  
  
“I don’t think you’re lying!” Weasley thrust his face back into Potter’s, close to his, close enough to bother Draco for some reason. He ripped his gaze away and concentrated on the report once more. “I just think you’re mistaken. We don’t know enough about this. What if you’re wrong?”  
  
Potter shook his head. “If I could show you the birth records that I found…”  
  
“Can’t you?” Granger interrupted, looking her most winsome and irritating. “I mean, I know the Minister said that no one can access _your_ birth records, but wouldn’t they still have to allow people in to look at birth records in general?”  
  
“I wouldn’t want to expose you to danger,” said Potter, his anxious martyred self again, and turned to face her. “I got away with looking at them because no one knew what I was looking for, then. But if you go in and start sniffing around, the Minister is going to know something’s up just because you’re my friend.”  
  
“We need someone who can look without arousing those suspicions, then,” said Granger at once, and then frowned. “But the only people who come to mind are your enemies, and honestly, that’s not much better.”  
  
They were all ignoring such an obvious solution that Draco waited a moment for them to suggest it, but no one did. He cleared his throat. “Lovegood.”  
  
Potter turned to him with a hopeful look in his eyes that Draco decided he was going to ignore. He could only put up with so many instances of Potter’s naïveté. He was more interested in the way Granger focused on him.  
  
“Yes, I think Luna could do it,” Granger said after a moment’s consideration. “She goes into the Ministry archives to research her articles all the time. And no one pays much attention to her anymore. As long as she waits a few days and doesn’t just look at the birth records, then no one should suspect her.”  
  
“That could work,” Potter acknowledged. There was a funny little smile in his eyes as he looked at Draco. “Did you say that because I suggested her before?”  
  
“Before what?” Weasley again.  
  
But Draco felt entitled to ignore him as he studied Potter, and at last said, as coolly as he could, when Potter’s smile was beginning to fade, “Of course not. I suggested her because she’s the best person for the job.”  
  
“Of course,” Potter said, and turned away, leaving Draco obscurely disappointed. He spoke quietly with Weasley and Granger for a little while, and Draco did finally turn back to his report and not listen in. It was just reassurances that Potter still thought of them as his friends, and yes, he would show them the magic he could do later, and no, he wasn’t planning to take up the Elder Wand or tell the rest of the Weasleys any time soon.  
  
 _Thank Merlin. I’m not ready to have my house invaded by a ginger horde._  
  
But after Weasley and Granger had left, Draco did clear his throat before he let Potter simply melt through the stones of the fireplace. “There’s some merit to what you said,” he murmured when Potter faced him. “About having Lovegood write about this. Just not at the same time as Doge, or before him. I think she would make a far better researcher in the Ministry archives.”  
  
Potter paused for a short time, eyes resting on Draco as if he doubted him. That made Draco want to snarl. Why _should_ Potter doubt him?   
  
“I think you’re right,” Potter said, finally, peacefully, and went away, becoming a small spiral of color that flowed into the stones and was gone.  
  
Draco sat down and stared at the wall. He knew he should feel triumphant, and he finally dismissed the niggling question of why he didn’t, and went back to reading the report.  
  
It continued to be less interesting than Potter, though.  
  



	15. Raid

The next knock on his door woke Draco only out of the trance he’d fallen into over the report. He turned and looked at the clock. It was nearly noon, but Sunday, which should mean that he didn’t have to report to the Ministry.  
  
Then the knock sounded at the door again. It was more like a thud. Draco stood up and backed himself neatly into a corner, holding his wand, certain spells filling his mind that not even his parents knew he had studied.  
  
The thud didn’t repeat. Then again, it didn’t have to. Draco cocked his head, listening hard, fingers running up and down the haft of his wand.  
  
“I’m going to ask you to open to us, Malfoy,” said the voice of Ernest Gallagher, one of those men who had been Aurors longer than Draco was alive. “Because I know you’re in there and you’ve been a decent lot. But after that, I won’t ask you again.”  
  
 _No “Auror Malfoy_.” Draco straightened his shoulders and moved away from the wall. The thud had been too heavy for one person alone. And he wouldn’t get away with cursing an Auror on a mission with the Memory Charm, the way he sometimes had when he was opposite a Muggle or a Dark wizard.  
  
He should have expected this, really, once he began to plot against de Berenzan. What he had to deal with was the necessary process of neat dancing and lying to get himself out of the corner.  
  
He opened the door and nodded to Auror Gallagher, then moved passively out of the way as six more Aurors dived in. de Berenzan was really taking no chances. “Good morning, Aurors,” he said, and held out his wand when Gallagher indicated he should. Gallagher cast the Binding Charm that would mean he couldn’t use it for any magic except a _Lumos_.  
  
“Sorry about this, Malfoy,” said Gallagher, under his breath, before he continued more loudly. “The Minister wants to see you. Step smart.”  
  
Draco nodded once and tucked his wand away. He noticed that not all the Aurors who had come with Gallagher followed them, though. Three of them stayed behind and were going through his books with more than a casual interest.  
  
“There’s a problem?” he asked mildly. “I’m entitled to know why my home should be searched.”  
  
“You know why,” snarled one of the younger Aurors, one distantly related to the Weasleys, whose first name Draco had never bothered to learn. “You’ve been collecting Dark Arts books you shouldn’t, _Death Eater._ ”  
  
For a moment, Draco and Gallagher’s eyes met in an exquisitely shared moment of agony over the stupidity of the raw recruits. Then Gallagher shook his grey moustache and pushed the young Weasley with a shove of his hand in the middle of his book, making him stumble. “And if the Minister wanted us to keep quiet,” he growled, “you would have just given up the secret of the whole mission. Are you stupid?” He paused, then added, “No, you’re not. Just need some seasoning. Tell you what, Yates, I’ll make sure that you get a chance to exercise your nerve and daring. I hear Azkaban is marginally less cold than normal, this time of year.”  
  
The Weasley’s face turned as red as the hair he didn’t have, and he started to stammer apologies. Draco just fixed his gaze in the middle of Gallagher’s back, where _he_ would push if he wanted to make the old Auror stumble, and walked on.  
  
Gallagher had told him a lot more in those few sentences than any blurted admission could have—and without the rest of the Aurors knowing.  
  
 _They don’t have to keep silent. And it’s the Minister who sent them, not the Wizengamot or the rest of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Just de Berenzan. He might want to keep this discreet, but that’s not the same as absolutely quiet._  
  
With just that knowledge, Draco had his war strategy already formulated.  
  
*  
  
“Auror Malfoy! What are you doing here?”  
  
Draco smiled a little. It made sense that they would run into Rose Sheldon as they paraded along the corridors of the Auror Department, heading straight for de Berenzan’s office. She would be working weekends as usual, trying to make enough legitimate money to feed at least part of her potion habit.  
  
“A little misunderstanding between the Minister and myself,” he said, and nodded to her, aware that Gallagher had stopped on purpose so that he could. But the other Aurors looked confused, and they couldn’t pause too long. “I promise I shouldn’t be late for the appointment you and I have, though.” He nodded significantly to her.  
  
Sheldon managed to keep her lips from forming the words “What appointment?” too obviously. She gave him a dubious look, but said, “Of course,” and stood out of the way as Draco’s escort closed in around him again.  
  
The brief encounter satisfied Draco. _Someone_ beyond the Aurors and de Berenzan would know where he’d last been seen if there was a problem. If de Berenzan had intended to disappear him by sending out Aurors on a Sunday with a formidable accusation, then he really shouldn’t have sent Gallagher, or allowed Draco to speak to anyone.  
  
Soon enough, they halted in front of de Berenzan’s office door, and he barked the order to come at once when Gallagher asked for permission. When Draco stepped inside, he saw de Berenzan on his feet and locking eyes with him.  
  
The Minister was smiling. But he lost the smile when Draco ambled in, looked around to make sure everything was still in the proper place, and then focused some of his polite, patient attention on de Berenzan.  
  
“I wouldn’t have objected to an invitation,” Draco said. “There was no need for formalities, you know, Minister.”  
  
For a moment, he thought de Berenzan’s self-control would crack. But he was too good for that. He motioned the idiots out of the office. Gallagher took up a pose along the far wall that would have done credit to a statue. Draco stood looking placidly at de Berenzan, and he finally shook his head and whispered, “Where’s Potter?”  
  
From the corner of his eye, Draco saw the start Gallagher didn’t give.  
  
“I don’t know,” Draco said at once, and began to play his role to the hilt. “I confronted him, and I know I drove him away from one of his sanctuaries. But he can use magic that isn’t wand magic, Minister. It confuses me.”  
  
The Minister’s hands tightened at once on the edge of his desk, and he gave Draco the kind of stare Draco had learned to cherish. It said he was off-balance and not sure what to believe anymore, but he might grasp what Draco was offering because it seemed to confirm his worst fears.   
  
_And any confirmation is better than none,_ Draco thought smugly, as he waited for de Berenzan to come to his senses.  
  
“What do you mean by magic that isn’t wand magic?” de Berenzan finally whispered.  
  
“He can vanish into the stone instead of Apparating,” Draco said promptly. “I’ve been doing a bit of research, and there’s no spell like that. Not that he appears to use a wand. I wanted to know, Minister, if you knew what happened to his holly wand. Did he leave it behind when he fled? That would suggest strongly that he’s into Dark Arts.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
The Minister sounded as if he didn’t know what to believe or hope for. Draco stepped nearer and lowered his voice, making de Berenzan almost sway towards him. “Because if your personality changes, then your connection with your wand changes as well. Believe me, Minister, I studied wandlore after the—unfortunate occurrences I was involved with during the war. The wand chooses the wizard. But what happens if the wizard becomes substantially different than the one the wand chose?”  
  
de Berenzan seemed to consider that possibility. Draco waited patiently. He had other tricks waiting if this one didn’t work.  
  
“This research into wandlore you conducted,” de Berenzan said finally. “It wouldn’t include Dark Arts books, would it?”  
  
“Any forbidden aspects I chose to pursue were done under supervision,” said Draco firmly. “It was books from the Ministry library that are approved for trainee Aurors to peruse, sir. And I assure you, I have no Dark Arts books in my home.” He could let his voice rise to genuine indignation on those last words.  
  
 _The very idea._ Only naïve fools like Potter kept their Dark Arts books in their _house_.  
  
“It would be easier if you had,” said de Berenzan unexpectedly, and moved back behind his desk, shaking his head as he did so. “That was the excuse I used to bring you here to me.”  
  
Draco maintained his expression of calm inquiry with an effort. “And so many people know the specific accusation as to render the lack of proof useless?” _What would happen if you didn’t find me amenable to helping you?_  
  
“Don’t be silly,” said de Berenzan. “My Aurors will keep quiet.” There was a slight emphasis on “my” that Draco didn’t like, and a second later, he knew he’d been right to distrust that particular tone. “It’s time for you to prove you’re one of my Aurors, Malfoy.”  
  
“Of course I serve the Ministry.”  
  
“Word-tricks like that won’t get you away from answering the question. Do you serve _me_ , Malfoy? Are you loyal to _me_?”  
  
“I would be blindly loyal,” said Draco. He might have been forced into a corner he didn’t like, but he wasn’t beaten yet. “I need to know what terms loyalty to you entails, Minister.”  
  
Unexpectedly, de Berenzan smiled and nodded. “You know what would please me, Malfoy,” he said. “That’s a good sign.” He tapped his fingers on his desk, and then added, “I don’t want blind loyalty, either.”  
  
Gallagher very carefully didn’t roll his eyes up. There was nothing careful about the way Draco didn’t turn to look at him, though. “What do you want then, Minister?” Draco asked, and awaited the clarification as de Berenzan fiddled with some papers on his desk in a way that suggested he didn’t know, either.  
  
And then he seemed to. He looked at Draco, and his body relaxed as he replied, “Thinking, questioning loyalty to me. Agreement that I am the one best suited to direct the Ministry.”  
  
“Who would oppose that? Not the people who elected you,” Draco said, as if he believed that, as if he would _abide_ by that supposed will of the people if it became necessary for him to do otherwise. “It must be enemies inside the Ministry itself?”  
  
He let his voice rise a little, and de Berenzan nodded to him instead of bridling at the question, which was all to the good, Draco thought. “Some of the Unspeakables are acting against me most, well, _unspeakably_ in refusing me access to Potter’s records and some of the things they know about him. And there are Aurors who don’t do what I tell them. And some others who are concealing evidence about Potter. Either because they know him and feel a personal friendship, or because they dislike me.” He looked at Draco pointedly.  
  
Draco smiled at him and said lightly, “I don’t think it’s a secret that you and I have largely not got along with each other, Minister, but that’s a long way from saying I would allow my personal feelings to stand in the way of doing my duty.”  
  
“Don’t speak to me of duty,” said the Minister. “You don’t know what it is.”  
  
Flying into a rage would do no one any good, least of all himself and Potter. Draco simply inclined his head and murmured, “Perhaps we could say that we have different definitions of it, Minister? You and I, I mean. I am willing to listen as you explain your definition. I would like to understand it.”  
  
“I should not need to explain it to anyone who shares it.”  
  
Draco only remained blank-faced, looking at him. He thought it was the safest tactic right now. de Berenzan was in the mood to twist any words Draco spoke.  
  
Finally, de Berenzan snorted and looked aside. “Very well,” he said. “Duty means serving the vision of what the wizarding world needs. The greater good of the wizarding world, if you want to put it in those terms.”  
  
 _I don’t, but it doesn’t surprise me that you would._ “All right,” said Draco. “And could you tell me what a particular Auror case might have to do with it?”  
  
“More than that,” said de Berenzan, “I can tell you what the pursuit of Potter has to do with it. Potter has a lot of power, see? We can’t let him believe the wrong things, or _proclaim_ the wrong things. We have a duty to capture him as soon as possible, so that he doesn’t confuse other people.”  
  
 _Confuse them with the truth._ But Draco only nodded as if he understood, and really, he did. He thought he and de Berenzan had the same definition of power. What they disagreed on was whose hands the power should rest in. “I understand, Minister. In the meantime, might I recommend something?”  
  
“What?” de Berenzan demanded.  
  
“You should, perhaps, refrain from showing any anxiety to the public about Potter’s defection.” Draco measured his words, as though they were pearls spilling from a trowel to land in front of the Minister. “Certain things Potter said to me when I battled him indicate that he’s running scared. He must have disappeared at least partially because he had no faith in the power you credit him with.”  
  
“He has no plans to make announcements to the public?”  
  
 _Of course he does, at the previously scheduled time._ It was a particular pleasure for Draco to smile and lie in a dulcet voice, “Of course not. I don’t think he ever did. He regards the thought with horror. He’s afraid of influencing people to follow him for all sorts of reasons. What would happen to them if he was wrong. What would happen to him.” He paused, and then added, to drive the point home, “He’s not a leader like you, sir. That might be part of the reason he disappeared in the first place. He came up with this new magic that’s not wand magic, and what does he do with it? Probably start fearing that he’s going to hurt people with it, or something.” Draco rolled his eyes. “Lots of people think of Potter as the paradigm of goodness, but he has no faith in that goodness himself.”  
  
“What do you think Potter’s birth records say, Auror Malfoy?”  
  
The combination of the formal tone and the question was dangerous, dangerous. But Draco could shrug and answer, relying on the deception he’d already built up. “Probably that he has some magical creature blood no one knew about. Maybe from his mother? She was a powerful witch. She might not have been _just_ Muggleborn.”  
  
 _There’s the twitch._ As usual, de Berenzan was sensitive to what other people said about Muggleborns, while not having the power to keep himself from caring about what they thought. But he also couldn’t contend against what might seem a valid reason.  
  
Not without interrupting the fragile “trust” he was building with Draco, and revealing that something far different occupied Potter’s birth records. Draco waited, and smiled, and finally de Berenzan struggled through what he would have said and nodded sharply.  
  
“I think we can work together, Malfoy,” he said, while his wrists and silences and all the pauses said something far different. “I hope that you won’t hold—anything against me I might have had to do in the past.”  
  
Draco widened his eyes. “Why would I? I grew up with political power, Minister. I might not have any interest in the office myself, but I know that the Minister has to do a lot of things that are in the interest of the general good but might not be able to respond to the concerns of one individual.”  
  
He watched with pleasure as de Berenzan twisted on that hook for a while before he leaned back and added, “What did you want me to do next in the hunt for Potter, Minister?”  
  
He thought de Berenzan might actually announce he was taking Draco off the case, but instead, after a long moment when he suspected de Berenzan was considering that, the man brought his head down sharply and muttered, “I suppose it would upset you to know that I’m unsure what to do next as regards Potter.”  
  
“Not upset me, Minister. Far from it.” _Please me greatly, amuse me, all of those, yes, but not as much as you think._  
  
de Berenzan gave him another one of those looks that was hopeful and disgusted with itself for being so. “Then you should know I don’t know how to corner him when he has magic that’s not wand magic, which might be—creature magic.”  
  
 _So unwilling to admit the truth._ Draco spent a moment idling with the speculation about what would make de Berenzan trust him with that particular secret, and then gave up on it when he saw the increasingly narrower gaze he was receiving. He sat up and said with more respect than he’d been able to force into his voice so far, “Well, Minister, I think you should know that I have some books at my home that give advice on trap rituals. But I would need to reread them. It’s been years since I possessed the details to give you an immediate answer.”  
  
de Berenzan’s mouth tightened in displeasure, but he gave a sharp nod. “Good. Well…I suppose I’ll let you go and read, Auror Malfoy. I’m glad that we had this talk so you could understand my definition of duty and loyalty.”  
  
Not even his father could have found anything to fault in the bow he gave the Minister, Draco thought, and meanwhile his belly ached with laughter and contempt. _Did he think it would escape my notice that we only talked about his definitions, not mine?_  
  
No. Probably not. de Berenzan remained as wary of Draco as he did of Potter, or only a little less.  
  
But because of Draco’s cleverness, he and Potter and their allies had a chance to decide what would happen next, and blind the Minister for at least a little while longer.  
  
 _I’ll tell Potter about this. I think he should know._  
  
And if Draco daydreamed for a bit about Potter congratulating him and listening with an open mouth as he recounted his conversation with the Minister…everyone was allowed a bit of harmless dreaming, after all.  
  



	16. Catching Up With Luna

“So you’re sure the Minister has no idea of your true allegiances?”  
  
Draco rolled his eyes a little. It was hard not to. Potter’s voice was hard and wary, and he hadn’t touched the lunch Draco had made sure to prepare for him before he came to the house that day. And he hadn’t even noticed Draco’s goodness in inviting Lovegood over for him, so he didn’t have to send an owl that might be intercepted.  
  
No, instead he was utterly focused on Draco’s conversation with de Berenzan and whether Draco had _actually_ managed to fool the Minister.  
  
“Yes, or he would simply take my access to the Ministry away now,” Draco pointed out. “He doesn’t _have_ to keep me on as an Auror. I’ve seen plenty of Aurors denied access to case files or their offices if they do something the least bit suspicious, until they can be investigated and cleared. de Berenzan would do that if he suspected me, and he wouldn’t even have to explain.”  
  
“But…”  
  
Potter’s fingers rapped the edge of his plate, nearly tipping the delicately carved slices of pork into his lap. Draco felt something inside him snap. He stood up and walked around the table, and Potter tilted his head back, frowning, to regard Draco.   
  
“When someone serves you lunch,” said Draco, in a polite voice he knew his mother would have scolded him for keeping _too_ polite, “the courteous thing is to _eat_ it.”  
  
“He might be keeping you as bait.”  
  
Draco swallowed in indignation, but there was nothing in his mouth, which meant he swallowed around his tongue and needed a moment to sort out the resultant stinging. “What?”  
  
“As bait for me,” Potter said, and brooded at Draco. Someone had evidently told him Draco would be impressed by it, and Draco was going to find that person and dispose of them as soon as he could. “If he thinks we’re allies, then maybe he’s just keeping you close and thinking that you’re playing him until he can spring a trap.”  
  
Draco leaned slowly back and sighed at the ceiling. The sigh went on until even Potter, who almost never looked offended by anything, looked offended. Then Draco turned back to him with a patient smile. “Potter,” he said, “you should know how ridiculous that sounds.”  
  
“I don’t.”  
  
“You gave me a masterful analysis of the Minister’s fears and the reasons that he might want you vanished forever when I finally convinced you to _talk_ to me. And you admitted that I could analyze his motives, too. Why do you think that now he’s changed his mind and wants to trap you? And that he could somehow suspect me of discovering the truth and yet wouldn’t take immediate steps to prevent me from communicating that truth to anyone else?”  
  
Potter’s fingers played with the edge of the table, which might be an improvement over the edge of his plate. Draco wasn’t sure. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m being paranoid.”  
  
 _Yes, you are._ Draco smiled as confidently as he could and shook his head. “Not at all. But listen, we have to proceed with our plans. Do you still want to meet Lovegood today?”  
  
“There’s a choice? You told me you’ve already invited her over.”  
  
“But you could put her off. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind, and she’s a loyal enough friend to you not to publish anything in that rag of hers until we tell her to.”  
  
It astonished Draco that Potter stared at him then. The man never seemed to have heard of the notion of putting anyone off or trying to ease inconvenience to himself. Maybe that was one reason he’d run away without telling his friends the truth, Draco speculated idly. Make things as inconvenient to himself as possible; only then could he feel that he was doing right.  
  
That irritated Draco for reasons it would take too long to name, so he waited, and finally Potter said, “Luna’s all right. And the _Quibbler’s_ not a rag.”  
  
“It’s a step up from what I usually call the _Daily Prophet_ ,” Draco reassured him, and then stood as the door resounded to an odd pattern of knocks. “That must be her.”  
  
“Check first,” Potter advised him.  
  
“My wards would have warned me if it was someone uninvited.” And after yesterday, Draco had added other Aurors to that list. It might make him look a little suspicious, but he would rather have the warning.  
  
The odd pattern of knocks repeated, and Draco frowned a little as he went to open the door. None of what he remembered, or remembered hearing, about Lovegood said she was that impatient.  
  
But when he opened the door, the slender woman standing there nodded at him and said, “I was knocking to frighten the last of the nargles away. I don’t want them to spy on our conversation.”  
  
 _Right, the reports also said Lovegood was obsessed with nonexistent magical creatures_. “It’s all right. Come in.”  
  
Lovegood walked in and turned around gravely three times by the fireplace. Draco decided he wasn’t even going to ask, and stepped aside as he watched Potter’s face light up when he saw Lovegood. He also wasn’t going to speculate on why his stomach churned as he watched Potter hug her.  
  
“I’m glad that you took the risk,” Potter said, and sat down at _Draco’s_ table with her, taking her hand as if she was the only one who existed in the room, or even the one who had taken such risks so that Potter could get his story out. “I know the Ministry probably watches you.”  
  
Draco held back a snort. Of course they didn’t. The chances that Lovegood would print something real in the _Quibbler_ were the chances that Rita Skeeter would become seriously interested in politics. It was one reason Draco had agreed to approach her at all. She would receive less scrutiny than Doge, until it was too late.  
  
 _But look at Potter glowing at her, like she’s a heroine_.  
  
The least Potter could do was glow at people who _deserved_ it, people who had actually taken risks to help him in his crazy little crusade.  
  
 _Or even convinced him to start the crusade in the first place,_ Draco thought, and forced his face into a pleasant expression as Potter and Lovegood turned towards him.  
  
“You can’t think how worried I’ve been,” Potter was saying. “I wanted to involve you from the beginning, but I was also worried about what the Ministry would do to you if they knew you knew.”  
  
With a jolt like a rusty nail piercing his skin, Draco realized that Potter had already told Lovegood all about the news they should have shared together. He scowled at Potter, who lifted his hands and smiled back in a superior way.   
  
Even if that could be seen as evidence of Potter coming out of his shell, it irritated Draco more than it pleased him.  
  
“I’m happy to help, Harry,” said Lovegood in that dreamy voice she had, and those unfocused eyes turned and settled on Draco. “And I’m glad some of the Ministry’s Aurors are finally breaking away from the Purple Coin Conspiracy.”  
  
Draco decided not to even ask, on the sure and certain knowledge that the answer would make him shriek like a Dementor. He gave Lovegood a temperate smile, the politest one he was capable of, and asked, “What kind of audiences do you think you can reach that the _Daily Prophet_ doesn’t?”  
  
“None.”  
  
Draco noticed Potter concealing a smile, and stopped. He supposed _audibly_ grinding his teeth was beneath his dignity, but he had hoped for one answer that wasn’t tangled in Lovegood’s crazy thoughts like a wreck in seaweed.   
  
_Stupid to hope for,_ Draco told himself sternly, and tried to sound bland and earnest at the same time as he asked, “But there are people who trust the _Quibbler_ more than they trust the _Prophet_?”  
  
“Of course there are.” Now Lovegood looked at him as if fearful for his mental health that he even had to ask. “Do you need some help with the nargles, Draco? I thought I got rid of them when I knocked on the door, but they’re swarming around your head so thickly that they might block your ears.”  
  
“I thought that was Wrackspurts.”  
  
“Usually it is. But his nargles don’t need any help from the Wrackspurts this time.” Lovegood actually took what looked like a silver quill from her pocket and held it out towards Draco. “Hold onto this and say your name three times backwards. It’s an emergency treatment for nargles this thick.”  
  
Draco wanted to refuse in a way that would send the quill flying up and _might_ just pierce her eyeball, but from the stern way Potter was looking at him, he wouldn’t get any praise if he did that. Sulkily, he took the quill and muttered some nonsense that he hoped sounded like his name backwards. He was not _actually_ going to—  
  
“You have to say _your_ name,” said Lovegood, while her eyes shone sternly at him. “Not Harry’s name. And _backwards_.”  
  
It hadn’t been Potter’s name, either, but one look at the far-too-amused expression on Potter’s face warned Draco that it wasn’t going to be worth fighting about. He adjusted his grip on the quill, still indulging his fantasy of stabbing Lovegood in the eye with it, and said, as clearly as he could, “Yoflam Ocard.”   
  
Although, of course, nothing happened, Lovegood beamed and clapped her hands, and Potter’s eyes softened. Draco handed the quill back over and said, “So what’s going to be our first strategy?”  
  
“Telling people about the lives of prominent Dark Lords who had soul-marks,” said Lovegood, in the kind of patient voice that she’d used to explain about the nargles and the Wrackspurts. “And pointing out that people who can cause evil can still be bound to others as their soulmates.”  
  
Potter stirred as if he wanted to say something, but Draco had no fault to find for that program. He supposed one reason Lovegood got away with as much as she did was that she mixed nonsense and common sense. Someone who ignored her for the one was in danger of missing the other.  
  
“Good idea. And after that?”  
  
“It’ll depend on the Ministry’s actions and the way that people are reacting to the article in the _Prophet_. You’re getting Doge to write that?”  
  
Draco nodded, and after that, he and Lovegood drifted into a discussion of strategy and how many people knew already, and whether people would be likely to accept the knowledge that someone could be born without a soul-mark and still have a soul.  
  
“I _don’t_ , though,” Potter interjected at that point. “I mean, I don’t think I’m a horrible person, but I don’t have a soul. I really, really don’t, or Dementors and rain unicorns wouldn’t ignore me the way they do.”  
  
“You’ve met the rain unicorns?”  
  
“I told you I’d spent some time with the soulless people who are allied with them.” Potter sent Draco an intense glance and turned back to Lovegood. Maybe he thought it would be more productive arguing with her than with Draco. “We have to tell people the truth, or the Ministry will find it easy to make them turn on us. I _don’t_ have a soul.”  
  
“But you’re breathing and blinking,” said Lovegood, the same objections Draco had brought up, although Draco didn’t think he would have phrased them _quite_ that way.  
  
“It’s not—a soul is something other than the vital force keeping you alive,” said Potter, with a faint sigh. “It’s the thing that makes you able to do wand magic and have a soulmate.”  
  
“Then it sounds to me like you’re defining a soul as simply what you don’t have,” said Lovegood, which made Draco blink again. There was yet another instance of good sense. “It would alienate people too much to tell them you don’t have a soul, Harry. Let’s stick to saying you don’t have a soul-mark, which is true and provable.”  
  
Potter firmed his mouth, but nodded, and said nothing through the rest of the conversation Lovegood and Draco had. At least by the end of it, Draco was convinced that she could _act_ sane, and that was the most important part right now.  
  
*  
  
“Thank you for having me over,” said Lovegood as she stood by the door, ready to leave. Her blonde hair hung down her back in one neat braid; Draco knew it hadn’t been like that when she came in, but honestly couldn’t remember what it _had_ been like. “I think this was a productive day.” She smiled at them both and laid her hand on the door.  
  
“Luna. Wait.”  
  
From the tone of Potter’s voice, Draco thought he was going to try to convince Lovegood to keep out of it after all, which would be a waste. But Lovegood only looked at him and said gently, “No, Harry.”  
  
“What? I can’t talk—”  
  
“The answer is, no. It’s wonderful having Rolf and all, but I can’t say that we have a perfect life.” Lovegood had clear, shining eyes as she studied Potter. Draco wondered where she put that look when she wasn’t wearing it. “And I don’t even know what you want me to tell you,” Lovegood went on in a musing way. “That we have a perfect life, a perfect soulmate love, or that we don’t? What do you _want_ , Harry? Honestly? Do you want me to tell you that you’re missing something wonderful and hurt you that way, or do you want me to damage the beliefs you’ve lived with for years?”  
  
Potter shut his eyes. His face was etched with lines so tight that Draco took a step towards him before he thought about it, before he remembered that he couldn’t do anything to ease those lines away. _He_ didn’t believe soulmates were perfect.  
  
“I want to know what it’s like,” Potter said anyway. “To have that love.”  
  
“It’s like anything else,” said Lovegood. She still wore her mask of common sense, which made Draco listen with more interest than he would have had otherwise. “I don’t know what to tell you, Harry. It’s bruises and laughter and knowing that Rolf is exasperated with me because the nargles have got to him.”  
  
Draco had to bite his tongue savagely. He had often thought that anyone would be a better soulmate than the woman his fate had paired him with, but at the moment, he had to acknowledge Lovegood would have been a worse choice for him.  
  
“It’s not perfect.”  
  
Potter flinched as though Lovegood had dealt him a body blow. Lovegood reached up and patted his cheek with one hand. Her eyes were steady and serene and knowing. “It’s not perfect,” she repeated. “You know what _I_ think? I think soul-marks just give us a chance. They show us someone we could be happy with. It doesn’t mean we will be. It doesn’t mean it’s perfect. That’s just something _we_ came up with. Soul-marks mean something, but no higher being ever came down and told us what. We only have our own theories. And maybe we’re wrong.”  
  
Draco blinked. That was one he hadn’t thought of. And he wondered, as he watched Lovegood pat Potter’s cheek one more time and march out the door, whether her words would have more impact on Potter than anything Draco could have said.  
  
He would have found the thought annoying a short while ago. Now he welcomed help in combatting Potter’s delusions.  
  
Potter walked back into the house and sat down at the table again, looking blankly between his hands. Then he shook his head and gave an artificial little laugh, turning to Draco as if he invited him into his amusement.  
  
“That’s Luna. She says so many airy things you tend to dismiss them all, and then she makes the truth all the more devastating when she does say it.”  
  
Draco smiled faintly, but kept his eyes on Potter as he asked casually, “You think she’s right?”  
  
“It would explain things. But—she’s so _happy_ with Rolf. I’ve seen them. The way they smile at each other. The way her eyes glow when she’s listening to him talk about the creatures they study, and the way he smiles at her when she’s talking about the nonexistent ones…”  
  
Potter trailed off, and he looked almost sick. Then he sat up and said, “Sorry, Malfoy. Getting sentimental again. As long as our strategies with the _Quibbler_ and the _Prophet_ will work together, that’s the important thing.”  
  
“You have a lot invested in this idea of perfect love and somehow getting it for yourself, don’t you, Potter?”  
  
“Who wouldn’t want to be loved?” Potter said softly. “To know someone _really_ loves you? And I’ve had less chance of that than most people.”  
  
Draco opened his mouth to say that was a load of bollocks, then hesitated. The way Potter had phrased it, it might not be. Who knew how many people had pretended they loved him, or were loved by him, to get some advantage or fame?  
  
“You can’t know what someone else’s marriage is like,” Draco said, the only comfort he could offer. “Not unless you’re in it. I think Lovegood and Scamander probably always had this less than perfect love, this is just the first time that you’re hearing about it.”  
  
Potter shrugged, that shrug that made Draco want to hit him, and stared at the table. “The strategy?”  
  
“We need a different strategy right now. To stop you moping.” _And me from hitting you._ “Take me to meet the rain unicorns and their allies.”  
  
Potter’s spluttering after that was, at least, quite entertaining, and he seemed to have forgotten to sigh about everyone in the entire _world_ getting a soulmate _except him_. Draco settled down to the serious business of persuading Potter to take him someplace where Draco might be in danger of being sacrificed to unicorns.  
  
 _It’s less annoying than listening to him moan about soulmates, at least._  
  



	17. Rain Unicorns

“Step carefully.”  
  
Draco didn’t need to be told twice. The fog around them was as thick as marmalade. He had to hold his breath a time or two, as well, as they made their way across slimy earth and between holes brimming with water. The place, which Draco could hardly see anyway, seemed to be a cross between a swamp and a broken road.  
  
“This way.” Potter’s hand took his arm and turned him carefully what felt like a mound of rock when Draco’s hand brushed it. For the first time, Draco thought that Potter’s affinity with the earth might be helping him navigate.  
  
 _I thought all of it was just being here before and not having a soul._  
  
Draco bit his tongue the moment he had that thought. _No_. He was not going to surrender to the stupid superstition Potter seemed intent on believing in. Not even if they were going to meet a bunch of people who believed in it, too. Potter’s delusions didn’t need encouragement. There had to be at least one firm, sensible person in his life who—  
  
Draco’s left foot slipped, and kept on slipping. There was no ground beneath his leg, and Draco could all too clearly picture the endless grey water he would drown in. He opened his mouth to shriek.  
  
Potter seized him and turned to the side, and suddenly Draco was kneeling on the stony shore of a pond, shivering. Potter knelt down next to him and murmured, “Hold still for a minute.”  
  
Dust and what felt like tiny pebbles rose and skittered over him. Draco blinked and held still. It wasn’t actually difficult. The sensation wasn’t so much irritating or stinging as something he had never felt before.   
  
When the dust and stones fell to the ground, they took the wetness with them. Draco ran a hand down his leg and shook his head. “I suppose that’s your substitute for a Drying Charm?”  
  
“Yes. One of the spells that I’ve been able to mimic better than most.” Potter gave him a smile, or at least Draco thought he did from the tone in his voice. Even this close, it was hard to make out any expression on Potter’s face. “Now. Can you stand and follow me? I’ll lay out a path for you in the mist if you want, but I need to go in front of you to do it.”  
  
Draco’s indignant question about why Potter hadn’t done that earlier died on his lips. He licked them and murmured, “I think I can.”  
  
Potter nodded and stood up. When he moved in front of Draco, small stones leaped and stirred in eddies like leaves on the ground. “All right. Make sure that you keep your feet inside the stones. They’ll turn and wind sometimes, especially where there are pools.” He paused, and then, maybe because Draco hadn’t said anything (like the person raised not to interrupt that he _was_ ), he added, “Can you do that?”  
  
“Damn it, Potter. Yes.”  
  
“Good.” And Potter was gone in front of him, slipping away between what seemed like extremely tiny pasture walls, when Draco began to shuffle after him and press his anklebones against the sides of the path.  
  
The path led him for what felt like miles, although Potter would later tell him it had been only a few hundred meters. The mist suddenly disappeared, and Draco blinked and held up a hand in front of his eyes.  
  
“Why did you bring one of the marked ones to visit us, Harry? You know the unicorns are just going to want him when they come.”  
  
Draco jumped at the voice, and whirled around with his wand aimed in front of him. That might have been a mistake, he had to concede, as he saw the dark shapes of more and more people surround him. Potter was with them, he had to be, since his voice was close when he spoke, but the air was still heavy with gloom and miasma, and Draco couldn’t discern which of the shapes he was.  
  
“This marked one is helping me, Oatten. I promise he won’t stay long. But he didn’t believe me when I told him that some people were soulless.”  
  
“Oh.” The voice drew out the word in a way that convinced Draco he wasn’t going to like this Oatten, and then chuckled. “Well, we’ll tell him in smaller words than you probably used.”  
  
The miasma abruptly blew away, and Potter was revealed, standing near the front of the crowd of perhaps twenty people. They looked like normal wizards, except with longer hair and flowing robes that looked more like tents than clothes. Their faces were marked with swirls of mud, or what Draco hoped was mud.  
  
Draco didn’t know what he should do. Politeness seemed as out of place here as it would be in a den of wild beasts. He nodded instead of bowed, and looked to Potter to see what would happen.  
  
Potter looked unfairly casual and relaxed. Draco wanted to roll his eyes, but didn’t see the point of doing that as long as he could take revenge on Potter for his keeping certain information secret later.  
  
Like the way that the wizards guarded the way into their realm with magic Draco had never seen before. Or that they were obviously savages.  
  
Oatten was a tall man with brown hair piled on top of his head in a way that reminded Draco irresistibly of Rita Skeeter, or at least the way she’d used to look. “If you’ve agreed to help Harry against this Ministry, then that’s a good thing,” he said, nodding. “No one should be able to get away with killing Harry.”  
  
 _Or people like him._ Draco waited for that addition, and blinked when it didn’t come. He looked at Potter.  
  
He thought Potter was a little flushed, although maybe he was only attributing his own, delicate, civilized feelings to a man who seemed to become half-wild around these wild wizards. Potter coughed and looked the other way, then waved his hand a little. “I learned about earth magic from Oatten, Draco.”  
  
 _Draco?_ But it was probably just meant to fit in with these people’s informal customs. They certainly showed none of the respect Draco would have thought a Dark Lord defeater like Potter merited.  
  
Telling himself that helped to dim the blush in his own cheeks that had no reason to be there. Draco cleared his throat roughly and said, “A pleasure to meet you.”  
  
“Wish I could say the same.” Oatten eyed him, and then shook his head. “There was a storm in the Americas the other day, Harry. Did you hear? One of the killing ones. There’ll be a new rain unicorn in the world, and eager for his first meal. If he comes here, you know who he’ll choose.”  
  
For an instant, unreasoning panic gripped Draco, the sort that had once afflicted him when he thought of facing Dementors. Then he shook his head. No, he still had a wand. And he didn’t really believe that losing your soul-mark meant losing your soul. Those were only superstitions.  
  
“I didn’t hear about the storm, no.” Potter’s face was immediately concerned, and Draco wanted to curse him when he saw that. It was the sort of deep involvement he had never given Draco, even when Draco was taking risks with him and _for_ him and encouraging him to rebel against the Ministry. “Do you think you can hold off the unicorns for the duration of our visit?”  
  
“I don’t know. How stubborn is he and how long is it going to take him to be convinced?”  
  
Draco made a soft snarling noise under his breath, but neither Oatten nor Potter seemed inclined to take notice of it. Oatten only faced Potter, and Potter only said, “He doesn’t believe that you and I don’t have souls. He thinks we just don’t have soul-marks.”  
  
Oatten stared. Then he snorted, and faced Draco, who didn’t appreciate the look of amusement laced with contempt directed his way. “Listen, Malfoy. You should know that Dementors are so dangerous partially because they suck out souls.”  
  
“And drain happy memories, and make people who can’t cast Patronuses feel like shit in general,” Draco drawled. He’d had _enough_ of being treated as though he was ignorant and didn’t understand things. “I told Potter, just telling me these tales about Dementors doesn’t convince me. I would have to see you actually interacting with a Dementor to--”  
  
“Oh, we have one. If that’s your only objection.”  
  
Draco’s voice dried up. He finally managed to whisper, “What?”  
  
“We have one,” Oatten repeated patiently. “Now and then the Dementors get ideas about how no one ought to escape their wrath, and they should be able to drain all wizards, and so on.” His voice was tolerant. “So some of them come seeking us. Usually the young and stupid ones. We capture them and keep them around as amusements. They always starve to death in the end, but we only caught this one a few weeks ago. Would you like to see it?”  
  
 _No_. But even if it hadn’t been for the light of challenge in Potter’s eyes, Draco would have known what he had to say. He’d asked for proof. Here was proof. He would look more than stupid if he forsook the chance now. He would look _inconsistent_.  
  
And that might make Potter decide he was weak, and that he could just ally with his friends and Doge and Lovegood in his attempt to force the Ministry’s secrets into the open.  
  
“Yes,” Draco said, and assumed the haughtiest expression he’d ever taken on.   
  
*  
  
The Dementor enclosure--not words Draco had thought he would ever put together--was made of some kind of transparent, shimmering mesh. If someone had asked Draco, he would have said the creature would probably just ooze around it, but the mesh danced oddly on the edge of sight. As Draco walked towards it, the Dementor looked at one point as if it was in a cage, at another as if it was obscured in one of the mists like they’d walked through on the way in, and at another as though it was totally free.  
  
Draco halted, his heart so fast in his throat he choked. Oatten brushed past him and clucked his tongue. “The creature would have fled already if it was _really_ free,” he said, with a contemptuous glance that made Draco grit his teeth.   
  
But Draco had to acknowledge the truth of the annoying prat’s words, as well. The Dementor flowed back and forth inside a cage that obviously contained it, never mind how. It put out long-fingered hands and jerked them back constantly, as if from knives that cut it.  
  
“What is the cage made of?” Draco asked, when they had halted perhaps a meter away from the constantly eddying mesh. The Dementor drifted towards the side of the cage nearest him. Draco didn’t think that was a coincidence, but neither did he intend to flinch away from it.  
  
 _Or_ think it was a sign that he was the only one who had a soul. _Ridiculous_.  
  
“Oh, a special material taken from Dementor nests,” said Oatten cheerfully. He walked right up to the mesh, and the Dementor showed no change except to shift a little away from him. That confirmed Draco’s belief that it _couldn’t_ be that these wizards had no souls. It was only that they had some means of intimidating Dementors that other people hadn’t discovered yet. “You can come up and touch it if you like. The mesh will keep it from opening its mouth enough to Kiss you.”  
  
The gleam in Oatten’s eyes told Draco what was likely to happen instead; he would go pale with the reliving of his worst memory. And Potter confirmed it a second later, by intervening and saying chidingly, “Do you _really_ want to do something like that, Oatten? Do you want to have to take care of him as well as the Dementor?”  
  
“I’m not that weak, Potter,” Draco hissed at him. Potter only looked at him with his eyes shining some more, and Draco suffered from an impulse to kick him. “Here, watch.” He stepped towards the cage.  
  
There was a sensation of chill as the Dementor focused on him, but nothing more than that. Draco rolled his eyes when he saw how eagerly everyone was peering at him, waiting for him to crumple and provide them with some entertainment—at least, Draco thought so. Sometimes it was hard to tell what people who despised him wanted. Their thought process was already alien to Draco if they could actually despise him.  
  
“I suppose you aren’t,” said Oatten, in what could be grudging respect. Draco wasn’t going to spend his time sorting out all the different emotions of people who despised him, either. “Of course, that’s probably the mesh and not you.”  
  
Draco narrowed his eyes. “So the mesh also prevents the Dementor from feeding?”  
  
Oatten shrugged. “Of course. That’s why they always starve to death after a few weeks. We try to offer them bananas and the like, but they don’t want them.” He turned away. “Come on, Harry. We have a few things to discuss with you. And Hail would like to speak with you.”  
  
There was a tone of reverence in his voice that made Draco cock his head. He had assumed without thinking about it that Oatten must be the leader here, because the other wizards stayed under their mossy robes and kept silent. But maybe this Hail was. “Who’s Hail?”  
  
Oatten smiled at him. It wasn’t a friendly smile. “Someone you don’t want to meet.”  
  
Draco looked at Potter, and waited. He was a lot more susceptible to guilt than Oatten and the others seemed to be. Sure enough, he started squirming and flushing after a moment. Content, Draco leaned his elbow on the nearest tree and watched him.  
  
Potter finally sighed and said, “ _Fine_ ,” in an aggrieved voice, as if he couldn’t believe how much Draco demanded of him. “He’s a rain unicorn. The one who usually speaks for them when they’re here, and negotiated the sale of their pelts and horns in the first place. And no, you don’t want to meet him. Not when he would consume your soul.”  
  
“I don’t believe that,” Draco told him roundly. “Just so you know.”  
  
“You’re free not to believe that, then.” Potter was standing straight, with a combative light in his eyes that Draco was more than familiar with. “But you’ll get in trouble with Hail anyway if you try something with him. Either he’ll touch you with his horn and your soul-mark will vanish, or he’ll touch you with his horn and you’ll fall into the kind of coma that someone Kissed by a Dementor does.”  
  
Draco turned to Oatten without answering. Switching between them seemed to keep them off-balance, and the more off-balance they were, the more actually _true_ information they seemed to give him. “If you can make a deal with the rain unicorns when they do that, then why can’t you negotiate with the Dementors?”  
  
Oatten shook his head. “They don’t speak any language we can understand. And they show no _desire_ to negotiate, either. The rain unicorns were the ones who first approached our ancestors. The day a Dementor does the same thing and we can understand them, then maybe we’ll try it.”  
  
Draco scowled. That answer made more sense than he wanted to admit. He started to turn back to Potter with his next question.  
  
But another of the hooded wizards had come up beside Potter and was saying something to him in a low voice that got lost within the rustling of the hood. Potter listened and began to smile; Draco thought it was almost reluctantly. He nodded and glanced at Draco. “We’re going to the camp. Do you want to come with us?”  
  
“Don’t you mean the village?” But of course Draco fell into step with Potter and the rest as they started moving. There was no telling what would happen to him if they left him here on his own. He’d probably stumble into another pool in the muck and drown.  
  
He hated to admit that he would be so helpless without someone else guiding him. But on the other hand, he could cover that under “recognizing realistic limitations on his abilities.” He just had to convince someone else that that was what it was, instead of cowardice.  
  
“It’s a sort of village-camp,” said Oatten, in the kind of tone that meant he wouldn’t explain anything else.  
  
Potter was more willing, luckily. “They move from place to place with the season and the presence of the rain unicorns and people who want to buy the unicorn horns.”  
  
“I know how expensive alicorn is. You’d think they could live better than vagrants in the wilderness.” Draco lowered his voice instinctively as the hooded figures moved to walk in front of them.  
  
Potter gave him a faint smile. “This is the kind of lifestyle that people value when they have no souls. Oatten’s explained it to me more than once.”  
  
Draco closed his mouth tight. It seemed that he couldn’t pierce Potter’s delusion on his own, the way he’d thought he might be able to if he just spent enough time chipping away at it. He would have to wait for an actual confrontation with a piece of evidence and then seize the moment.  
  
He shivered as they kept walking. Even though he would have expected wizards without wands to have discovered some substitute for basic Warming Charms, it didn’t feel like it. But why did no one else seem bothered by it?  
  
Then Oatten halted and murmured, “Well. It seems Hail’s impatient to see Harry.”  
  
The mists in front of them shifted, and Draco braced himself. He might get his confrontation with that piece of evidence sooner than he liked.


	18. Moving Like Water

“So this is one with a soul.”  
  
The voice was low, and strange. Draco was convinced he heard it, and that it emerged from the unicorn’s throat sounding like he was a Muggle who had smoked too many of their dangerous cigarettes. But at the same time, he knew that the words hadn’t left the unicorn’s mouth. They had simply appeared in the air.  
  
Two unicorns came forwards. They resembled the unicorns Draco was familiar with only in the way hawks resembled butterflies. They did have the same kind of horn, a delicate white spiral that made ivory look dirty.  
  
They had huge grey eyes, though, and shifting grey coats with shadows crawling over them. Now and then Draco thought he saw a dapple, now and then a spiderweb-like marking, or one like a snowflake.  
  
But before he could be sure, Potter gripped his arm and leaned over to hiss in his ear. “Be careful when you look at them. They’ll draw you in and down, and then you’ll just stand there while they take your soul.”  
  
Draco still doubted that rain unicorns could take anyone’s soul, even if Dementors could, but he wasn’t about to disregard Potter’s warning. He averted his eyes and nodded shortly, to let Potter know he took him seriously. Potter seemed satisfied, since he released Draco’s arm.  
  
But Draco could still look from the corner of his eye, and he did.  
  
They had hooves that curved upwards, as ivory in color as the horns, and so sharp that they made Draco’s skin prickle just looking at them. Even worse, he didn’t doubt that they were sharp enough not to hurt as they slid in. He might bleed to death before he knew that a unicorn had kicked him.  
  
Their feet and legs had smaller stipples of the shadows that marked their coats, but these looked different, as they overlapped and seemed to leap into and around each other. Draco blinked and steadied himself by a glance at Potter, so he knew he wasn’t getting lost in them. Then he looked back again.  
  
Yes, he wasn’t mistaking it. He had looked at portraits of snakes for long enough, after all. The rain unicorns had _scales_ on their legs.  
  
“There is a new one of us,” said the same hollow voice that seemed to proceed by rearranging time, “who has decided to take on the name of Center-of-the-Gust. He wishes to consume a soul. Since you brought us the one that he wants to take, you will be rewarded. I am glad that you and I can speak on such terms when we parted on bad ones last time, Harry.” A horn dipped down, as if the unicorn called Hail was bowing to Potter.  
  
“Except that the human with a soul doesn’t want to be eaten today,” said Draco brightly, and drew his wand. “So you can tell Center-of-the-Gust to find his soul somewhere else.” If the unicorns themselves were talking about eating souls, then Draco supposed he had to admit, provisionally, that he believed it.  
  
There was an astonished silence, and one of the shadows towards the back of the herd shifted. The unicorn who had been speaking turned and trotted back in its direction, and came back a moment later.  
  
“I do not understand,” said the voice both in and out of Draco’s head. “Have you brought him for us to consume, or have you not?”  
  
“I have to admit that I didn’t, Hail.” Potter sounded oddly calm and relaxed, but with a soft taunt in his voice that reminded Draco of Oatten talking about the Dementor. “I brought him here because he doesn’t believe that people like me are born soulless. I thought seeing you and the others might convince him.”  
  
“Of course you were born soulless,” said Hail, in the voice of someone discussing the simplest thing in the world. Draco could only compare it to his father ordering one of the house-elves to hurt itself. “Otherwise, we would have eaten your soul when we first met.”  
  
“Well,” said Potter, and then touched Draco’s arm and tugged him a little forwards. “Keep your horns and hooves where I can see them, and then you can take a closer look. It’s too bad we don’t have another human with a soul, who you could eat to be the demonstration to convince him.”  
  
Draco turned and stared at Potter, being careful to keep the unicorns out of his field of vision. Did Potter have the least _idea_ what he sounded like?  
  
But he must, Draco thought when he saw the calm expression on Potter’s face. Calm and absolutely set. He was switching back and forth between being the compassionate man Draco had met, who didn’t want to force anybody to acknowledge him, and the tough one that Oatten and Hail and the others seemed to expect.  
  
Although he had thought him weak at the time, Draco decided now that he preferred the more compassionate Potter.  
  
“He is very pale.”  
  
Draco bit down on his tongue to avoid giving his all-purpose retort to that, and avoided looking too much at the unicorns’ hides and horns and eyes, staring over their heads as a forest of horns moved around him. Once one of them turned a little to the side and cocked a back hoof, and Draco opened his mouth then.  
  
“I see that, Hurricane.” Potter’s hands flicked, and a series of pebbles soared up from the ground and rasped across the unicorn’s muzzle with a sound so unpleasant that Draco flinched in spite of himself. “You’re to keep your hooves to _yourselves_ , I said. If you want me to stop talking to you, Hail, I’ll be just as happy to do that.”  
  
“No need to be so hasty, Harry. You know how the young ones get.” And Draco heard the rasp of something that sounded like a solid kick to the ribs. He hoped it was. “The young ones” needed to be taught how to mind their manners, too, it sounded like.   
  
He also hoped it was at least as unnerving for them to be kicked as it was to stand there in a crowd of creatures who at least _believed_ they could eat his soul.  
  
“Then teach them,” said Potter, and raised a curtain of stones in front of Draco. “You’ve had enough time to look him over, Hail. And you didn’t know I would be bringing him here, so I don’t believe the original reason you wanted to meet with me had anything to do with him. What was the reason?”  
  
Hail raised his head and made a sound that was like a trumpet deprived of air. Draco saw the other unicorns backing up, though most of them tossed their horns as if they contemplated rebellion. He caught a glimpse of the curved front teeth in Hail’s mouth, and shuddered a little. Perhaps he did eat souls and not flesh, but he had a mouth that looked as if he did.  
  
“I wanted to know if you had considered my offer,” said Hail at last, when they’d stood there for some time and Potter showed himself perfectly at ease in the rain unicorn’s presence.  
  
“I did.”  
  
There was more silence. Draco held his appreciative snicker to himself. At least he knew Potter frustrated unicorns and soulless people as much as he did the people who were trying to help him in the wizarding world.  
  
“And well?” Hail asked at last, and let his hoof bounce off a stone.  
  
“The answer is no.”  
  
Hail suddenly moved forwards. Draco started and almost stepped in front of Potter, but Oatten reached out and held his arm with a grip that was only casual until it started to ache down Draco’s bone. Draco tried to shake him off, but Oatten pulled him over and hissed in his ear.  
  
“Hail respects Harry almost as an equal. It’s the only time I’ve ever seen a rain unicorn do that. You’ll do more harm than good if you try to interfere now.”  
  
Draco bit his lip and said nothing. Hail was still flowing around Potter. That was what it looked like more than anything else, he thought, as if Hail had shed those scaled legs for pure scales and become a snake. But it was hard to focus on him without the shadows from his coat trying to overwhelm Draco again, so he tilted his head to the side and simply listened quietly for what Potter would say.   
  
“We’ve given you what you wanted,” said Hail. “We’ve tested you and tried you and explained your condition.”  
  
“You didn’t explain it,” said Potter. He didn’t turn to face Hail, which might have been impossible anyway. He kept his eyes focused forwards and his smile faint and fixed. “You told me something that _might_ have happened, something that later turned out not to be true after all. You had some good ideas. But I don’t owe you for good ideas.”  
  
“What was the offer Hail made him?” Draco hissed at Oatten.  
  
Oatten only shook his head and continued to watch Potter and Hail raptly. Draco rolled his eyes. He was starting to think the problem with these people wasn’t their lack of souls, but their lack of any initiative whatsoever.   
  
“You owe us for more substantial aid than good ideas, though.”  
  
“And I paid the price.”  
  
“It is a price you could pay again. You could be a lesson for the young ones, if you would not be the means of feeding them.”  
  
“I will not.”  
  
Draco couldn’t help but crane his neck to try and see the expression on Potter’s face when he said that. Did he look like he had when he was speaking to their crowds, or to Doge? Was he being deceptive, or real?  
  
 _And why do I care so much?_ After a minute, Draco persuaded himself into settling back on his heels and looking as calm and contained as he possibly could. He might not be making an impression on anyone right now, since they were all watching the byplay between Hail and Potter, but it was the only way he could live with his own criticism.  
  
“You owe us, Harry Potter.” Hail was walking faster and faster around Potter now, his horn cocked to the side and his hooves leaving the ground in oddly high steps. Draco wondered for a moment if this was part of the way rain unicorns fed, and resolved to watch, but then the swarming shadows in Hail’s coat tried to drown him again, and he had to look away. “You owe us for saving you and showing you how to make something of your life.”  
  
“I don’t owe you anything. We made a bargain. You showed me one thing and I showed you another.”  
  
“But we saved you from the clutches of your wizarding world and the wand that wanted you and which you did not want. That is two things. You only gave us one.”  
  
Hail stopped suddenly, so hard that Draco felt his eyes rolling about in their sockets trying to keep up with the change. He turned his head firmly aside and closed his eyes so they would stay still. He was _not_ going to succumb to the rain unicorns’ power after so many people had gone out of their way to warn him about it.  
  
“I said the bargain was fulfilled.” From the sounds, Potter was turning slowly and deliberately to look straight at Hail. “You agreed. You can’t bring it up now and decide, a year later, that it never was.”  
  
“I can do what I want, Harry Potter. Here, in this place, now. Or have you forgotten?”  
  
The unicorn seemed to ripple, and suddenly struck like a breaking wave. Draco put a hand over his eyes before he realized that he probably _wanted_ to see this, and he dropped it hastily and moved forwards.   
  
Potter moved at the same time, dipping down and extending his arms. He melted into the earth at Hail’s hooves, and then he rose from it in a shower of dirt and moved behind him, clasping something in his hands. Draco squinted. It was hard to see what it was, other than something white and shining, and long and thin and fine.  
  
Potter knotted it around the unicorn’s throat, and then held it still. Hail froze in place with unnatural grace at the exact same moment. He was still reared, his hooves still poised above the earth, but he didn’t kick Potter or try to strike him with his horn. He simply stood.  
  
“Now,” said Potter, who wasn’t even breathing hard, “are we going to call the bargain unfulfilled? Really? When you know what it would mean for your people?”  
  
The white line in his hands cut the unicorn’s throat when Hail moved against it. Draco choked. He could only guess how sharp it was to cut through all that thick muscle and pelt protecting Hail’s arteries. And that didn’t tell him why it _wasn’t_ cutting through Potter’s hands.  
  
“I know what it would mean,” said Hail. “But I tell you that the insult cannot stand.”  
  
“There was never any insult. There was only me, being beyond your power, and you being unable to accept it.”  
  
Draco tensed and flinched before he could stop himself. _Merlin, Potter, do you_ want _to die?_ But then again, this was Potter, so Draco wouldn’t be surprised if he did. He certainly seemed willing to do other insane things like isolate himself from the wizarding world.  
  
Hail surged again, and a long, thin stream of pale blood slid down the side of his neck. Draco was more than interested to note that where it moved, the shadows in Hail’s coat stilled and then began rotating backwards, in a slow, sick spiral.  
  
“I can kill you,” said Potter. “And then I can take your horn, and make sure that you won’t come back.”  
  
 _They can come back?_ Draco tightened his hand on his wand, not even caring if someone else saw the gesture and thought he was weak. The more he learned about rain unicorns, the more he thought he should be prepared to confront and kill them at all times.  
  
“A horn I have not shed would void our bargain.”  
  
“As trying to kill me would void it.”  
  
Hail remained in that unnatural posture for some time without visible strain. Draco decided he was thinking. Draco watched more blood run down his neck, and shook his head. _No wonder Potter feels like he fits in here. He and the rain unicorns are each as crazy as each other._  
  
“Very well. I will not void the bargain, and you will not void it.”  
  
“Agreed,” Potter snapped, and then whipped the thin line from around Hail’s throat and dived back down into the earth. This time, he was close enough to the surface, or Draco was alert enough, to see the roil of disturbed dirt that Potter made, like the trail of a mole, as he moved underneath them, and he didn’t jump, the way Oatten did, when Potter leaped up beside them and nodded to them.  
  
“Hail won’t be a problem now,” said Potter briskly.  
  
“What was that line you used?” Draco asked into the stunned silence. The rain unicorns were standing together like one creature made of many legs and horns, and none of the soulless wizards seemed inclined to ask anything.   
  
Potter gave him a tired smile. “Spun diamond.”  
  
Draco gave him an assessing look. He seemed to be telling the truth. “And why didn’t it cut you?”  
  
“Because my hands are in resonance with the diamonds that it’s spun from.” Potter turned his hands over, and Draco stared at the runes now visible on the backs of them, in the shape of some of the small circles of flaked stones Draco had seen him make in the past week. “I’ll show you when we have a minute where we can really sit down and I can draw the runes. It’s complicated.”  
  
Then Potter nodded at Oatten and added, “Can we still go back and visit with your family? I’d like to see Mercy.”  
  
“Y-yes,” said Oatten. A second later, it seemed he’d got over his shock at hearing those words from Potter, or seeing his actions, and he straightened his shoulders. “This way, Harry.”  
  
He disappeared into the swirling mist. Potter looked at Draco as if asking whether he had more questions, but Draco was watching the rain unicorns. They turned and melted into the mist, though, without even the sound of hoofbeats.  
  
“They’re creepy,” Draco said, since no one was around to scoff at him. “And strong.”  
  
“I’m stronger,” said Potter without any sound of bragging, and moved ahead of Draco. “Stay close to me and follow in my path. Oatten is forgetting to be courteous to visitors again.”  
  
 _You’re not only strong,_ Draco thought as he obeyed. _You’re much more dangerous than I thought. I’m going to find out what other secrets you’re hiding, Potter, and I’m going to make sure that the rebellion against the Ministry succeeds._  
  
 _Because we have no reason to_ lose, _if you’re this strong. The only problem is getting you to display your talents._  
  



	19. Feast of the Soulless

“I want you to explain what’s going on to me.” It wasn’t hard for Draco to whisper those words to Potter, not when music so loud was playing around them that it rattled Draco’s teeth.  
  
“Later. It’s too loud now.”  
  
And Potter smiled across the fire at one of the cloaked women—Draco thought it was a woman—who offered him a plate of thick bread and savory sauce, and dived straight into a discussion that Draco thought was meant to avoid him and nothing else. Potter slapped the bread into the sauce and said something of which Draco only caught “good enough for a rain unicorn,” which made the others laugh.  
  
Draco couldn’t always tell which of the cloaked markless wizards around them had been the ones accompanying them while Potter confronted Hail. He knew Oatten’s voice, but that was all. The others had remained largely mute, and had melted away from them when they entered this camp-cum-village. But then some had come back, and someone had lit a fire that seemed to burn water and moss, and the feast had started.  
  
But even if all the markless around them now had been the ones with them when Potter and Hail battled, they laughed with Potter as if he was a welcome guest, but not someone extraordinary, not someone who had demonstrated how powerful and dangerous he was.  
  
 _Don’t they wonder about it? Don’t they consider how in the world Potter can just go on talking like this and laughing and acting_ normal? _Don’t they think the bargain he talked about making with Hail must be more than a little strange?_  
  
On the other hand, if their indifference was real instead of some strange function of a culture where a bunch of people were born without soul-marks, then Draco didn’t want to encourage them to pay more attention. That might take away from the unique position he held with Potter right now.  
  
The feast went on and on, the music clashing with Draco’s thoughts until he felt as if someone had given him a blow on the head. He forced himself to sit still and smile and nod, even though he longed for quiet to think like a thirsty man longing for water. The feast had bread with the sauce, some greens Draco thought looked like roasted moss and honestly couldn’t bring himself to touch, and a bowl of sliced peaches that he ate because at least he knew what they were.  
  
Potter held court in the center of it all.  
  
 _He’s been lying all the time,_ Draco thought, licking sauce from his fingers because there were worse breaches of manners than that going on all around him, and no one seemed to care. _When he pretended not to be anything special, when he said that he couldn’t face the public, and when he said he had to run away and hide because the force of people being against him was too much for him. He can handle himself just fine with_ this _public._  
  
But then Draco paused as a new thought occurred to him. It happened abruptly enough that someone trying to take a plate of the fruit from him glared, and Draco shook his head and passed it on. He ignored the glare that followed. He couldn’t care _that_ much what the markless thought of him.  
  
 _What if the reason he’s different here is because of their lack of soul-marks? These people are like him. He doesn’t have to feel different or inferior around them because they don’t have a destined love, either._  
  
Draco rolled his eyes a little. _Or what he thinks of as a destined love._  
  
He studied Potter from beneath lowered eyelids, this time trying to make sure that he didn’t lose track of his surroundings so completely as to appear rude. He wasn’t concerned about how these people thought of him, true, but he did think they might tell Potter if they saw how interested Draco was in Potter’s performance.  
  
 _He’s fine here. His laughter is fuller, freer. I don’t think I’ve seen him stare at one person yet with envy the way he did even at Weasley and Granger._  
  
Draco brushed a hand across his lips. He’d told Potter what he thought about soul-marks, he’d thought he’d made it clear that he wanted nothing to do with the woman who bore the other half of his, and yet he remembered the blatant look of envy being directed even at _him_.  
  
 _Potter says that I don’t understand what it means to be born without a soul-mark, but he doesn’t understand, either. He has a blind spot about soul-marks, and he thinks I must be happier than he is, even if I would be happier to swap with him._ Draco grimaced a little. _Assuming the Ministry would have let me survive my first year, once they realized I didn’t have a mark._  
  
 _But whatever the problem is, we need to talk about it. And I know the perfect time to ask him._  
  
Draco sat back and waited patiently for the feast to end.  
  
*  
  
The village-camp that the soulless lived in had spare houses for visitors. Well, Draco was calling it a house out of courtesy. It was really two small walls that leaned in towards each other, and the space in between the walls was filled with woven vines, moss, and branches. Draco shivered and immediately cast a few Warming Charms as he stepped through the door.  
  
“I could make a fire if you want,” Potter offered, ducking in behind him. He hadn’t objected when Draco tugged on his arm to get him to follow Draco into the house, but he stood now with his hands tucked into his pockets and his head turning from side to side as if he was looking for a real bed. “That’s not hard magic with stones.”  
  
“I know,” Draco said dryly. “But I’d like to handle the matter myself.” He turned around. “You’re going to be busy answering my questions, anyway.”  
  
Potter’s face blanked itself with remarkable efficiency. “What about?” he asked, and tensed his hands as if he expected to have to wrestle.  
  
“Why you continue to think of soul-marks as a blessing and a great thing despite knowing people, like me, who don’t have that destined love,” said Draco sharply. “Does it take you _that_ long to get over your friends’ examples and realize not everyone is like them? And you were scolding _me_ for not believing that you and wizards like Oatten are really soulless.”  
  
“You’ve had a lot more evidence than I have.”  
  
Draco rolled his eyes up. “Oh, excuse me for not trusting you the minute I heard something incredible—”  
  
“Why do you think _your_ position was so much more believable? I’d heard all my life that soul-marks were the sign of a great love. And it wasn’t just my friends. It was their parents and my parents and other people I knew in Gryffindor.” Potter sighed and sat down on what was probably supposed to be the bed, a long cot slathered with moss and hanging vines. Or maybe _made_ of them. It was honestly a little hard to tell, Draco thought. “It’s hard to realize that was a lie.”  
  
“Not a lie,” Draco said. He didn’t really think Granger and Weasley were forcing themselves to be with each other, or that Potter’s parents had, either. He moved over and crouched down in front of Potter. “Just…a different perspective. It means that you’re not deprived of love for the rest of your life because you happened to be born without a soul-mark. Honestly, I’d think you’d be celebrating,” he added.   
  
“Because I’m left out of something that everyone else experiences?”  
  
“It’s fully as natural to be born without a soul-mark as with one. It’s just that no one thinks so because of the Ministry being—unjust.” Draco could have used other words, but he chose the one most likely to convince Potter. “Why do you _want_ to feel left out?”  
  
“I _don’t_!”  
  
Potter was on his feet suddenly, and Draco drew his wand before he thought about it. That was Auror training for you, he thought, staring up at Potter as he stood there with his chest heaving. It made certain reactions inevitable.  
  
Potter calmed down after a second and looked away. “Maybe it’s okay if you’ve had other close relationships,” he whispered. “But I only had Ron and Hermione, and a few other people who were always going to have their soulmates. I understood that I had to come in second to those relationships. I thought it didn’t matter then, because I was so sure the lightning bolt was my soul-mark and I would find my soulmate someday.  
  
“But to know that I’ll never have anything else, that I’ll never come _first_ with someone—I suppose I did with my parents, but I can’t remember it…” Potter trailed off. “At least you can remember your parents loving you, Malfoy, even if you chose never to go to your soulmate. I can’t.”  
  
Draco tried to say something. His tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth, and he didn’t _think_ it was because of any curse Potter had cast. He shook his head and coughed.  
  
Potter looked at him with a brave little smile that Draco wanted to punch off his face. “I hope you don’t feel sorry for me. I pitied myself, for a long time, but I’ve got over it now. I’ve made a life for myself. I think my parents would be proud of me.”  
  
“I’m not feeling sorry for you,” Draco said, when he could pry his tongue loose.  
  
Potter nodded. “Good—”  
  
“You idiot.”  
  
Potter leaned forwards, delicately balanced on the heels of his feet, staring at Draco. “Excuse me?”  
  
“You stand there and tell the sad story of your life, and how much I should be grateful for.” Draco shifted closer to him. He wanted to do something, and he knew he would soon, from the energy bouncing and rippling through his muscles. He didn’t know what it was _quite_ yet, but he would soon. “But you have a lot more advantages than you think you do. Ask me to feel sorry for you? It’s an insult.”  
  
Potter’s face turned tight and pinched. “I’m only asking that because I thought you might be already. And anyway, I told you that even if you would have liked to be born without a soul-mark, I don’t think—”  
  
“You’re competent,” Draco said. “That’s what irritates me the most about your little charade. You sit around and sigh and pretend that you’re a helpless victim of circumstance. But you have the tools to _fight_.”  
  
“Maybe I’m sick and tired of war!” Potter yelled. “Maybe I’d like to taste peace the way everyone else does!”  
  
“You know you can’t do that while the Minister still knows that you don’t have a soul-mark and is worried you might share the information with someone else,” Draco told him coldly. “You _know_. And you still stand there sounding wounded and self-righteous. So you have to do things you don’t want to do, Potter. So do we all.”  
  
“Like you? You abandoned your soulmate of your own free will. You decided to become an Auror of your own free will. I know you’ve overcome the reputation you had of being a Death Eater, I _asked_. That doesn’t mean—”  
  
“I didn’t mean that!”  
  
Potter gave him another haughty glare, and Draco found the outlet for his energy. He leaped across the room towards Potter, and Potter went back into the wall with a grunt. The house creaked around them, and what sounded like a pine branch snapped, but it didn’t fall in on them. That would have been embarrassing.  
  
Not to mention that Draco would have had to let Potter go to concentrate on that, and he didn’t want to do that right now for _any_ reason.  
  
“You have a lot going for you,” Draco muttered into Potter’s ear, ignoring his thrashing. He couldn’t get free easily, unless he wanted to dive into the earth and come up behind Draco, and Draco didn’t think he would take the chance of doing that right now. He was as focused on Draco, his eyes as wide and unblinking, as Draco was on him.   
  
“You have money and friends who would die for you—friends you tried to shut out—and enough power to make creatures as dangerous as the rain unicorns respect you. Forgive me if I don’t believe that you have it as badly as some people do.”  
  
“Do you want to know what the bargain the unicorns made with me was?” Potter snarled in his face.  
  
Draco let his weight rest a little more comfortably against Potter, which meant against the wall, too, and smirked at him. “Yes, I do. I told you that I wanted to hear about it during that raucous meal, remember? Not my fault if you misinterpreted everything and assumed that I would be watching you with my mouth wide-open and my eyes full of pity.”  
  
Potter shoved at him, but with the way Draco was leaning, most of his weight wasn’t even on his feet now, only on his legs and his arms against Potter. Potter gave a huff and said, “I told them that I would let them consume me if I couldn’t master the earth magic they taught me. I was a fascinating specimen to them, since I technically still had a wand that would let me master it.”  
  
“But they didn’t consume you,” Draco guessed. “And now—what? Is Hail angry that he couldn’t eat you?”  
  
Potter snorted. It was starting to sound breathless, with the way Draco was leaning on him, but Draco had no intention of moving to let Potter have more air. He would vanish if that happened. Because, at heart, he was a coward and just wanted to feel sorry for himself.  
  
Draco couldn’t even say why that revelation made him _burn_ like it did. But it did, and that meant he wasn’t going to let Potter do whatever he pleased. He pressed down, and waited.  
  
Potter finally hissed and said, “Hail assumed I would do what Oatten and the others do, and give them any people with soul-marks that they want to consume. But they were more interested in me than the others because I live in Britain. They don’t get a lot of victims from there. The unicorns think victims from other places taste—exotic.”  
  
Draco grimaced and avoided spitting. “And you refused.”  
  
Potter nodded. He seemed to have given up on escaping for the moment, leaning back on the wall and staring at the roof of woven branches, but Draco didn’t let up for all of that. “I restricted him to a bargain that involved them showing me how to use earth magic and escape from the grasp of the Elder Wand. It was a bet, sort of. They wagered I couldn’t do that. It turned out I could, and I escaped from the feast they wanted to make of me. Or the experiments they wanted to do on me. I’ve never been sure which one it was.”  
  
“And now?” Draco asked, shifting his weight again. He was getting uncomfortable with the angles that Potter seemed to be made of digging into him, but he was too wise to let Potter go, either.  
  
“Now he wants to eat me. Or make me do something else.” Potter gave a windy sigh and threw his head back as if the ceiling above them was infinitely more interesting than Draco’s face. “The problem with trying to talk about rain unicorns is that they’ll change their minds even about things that seem important to them, the way they did about eating you when the chance to challenge me came up. So there’s no point in trying to communicate about them clearly, or describe all the nuances of a conversation.”  
  
“If I said that I wanted to understand? That I think they at least believe they consume souls, whatever I believe about it?”  
  
Potter brought his head down and eyed Draco cautiously. “That might be acceptable. But it doesn’t make it any easier to talk about them clearly.”  
  
Draco caressed his arm, and didn’t miss the shiver that ran through Potter. “Good. Then you’ll swear to me that you’re not lying? That those were your terms of the bargain with the rain unicorns, and no more than that?”  
  
“What more than that would you _like_?”  
  
Draco gathered his strength and moved back from Potter in a half-lunge, so that he was standing easily on his own and Potter was rubbing his arm, glaring at Draco a little. “That’s a good beginning,” Draco said simply, ignoring the temptation to say more. “I may have more questions later, Potter. For now, good night.”  
  
And he moved over and lay down on the cot, ignoring the way that Potter swore incredulously to himself for a few minutes. On the other hand, Potter also left the tent-house without attempting to “wake” Draco.  
  
Draco closed his eyes only when he was sure he was alone, and let out another breath that made him tremble.  
  
Being that close to Potter had been too intense. It had relieved the energy boiling in Draco, slightly, to bolt across the house and fight with him, but at the same time, it had confirmed for him what kind of danger he was in.   
  
He didn’t want to want Harry Potter.  
  
  
  



	20. Suddenly

Draco woke and rolled out of the cot-bed before he even knew why he was awake. He grimaced as he felt stones and small twigs bite into his shoulders. Of course, he was in the uncivilized forest among the even more uncivilized people who thought they didn’t have souls.

But _something_ had awakened him.

Draco’s first thought was that the rain unicorns had arrived for another attempt at eating him. He kept his grip on his wand relaxed, but he ran through the movements in his mind that he would need to cast a spell that shattered hooves. It had once been used to stop charging centaurs in the old, war-mad days. Draco could only hope it would work on the unicorns’ strange, axe-like hooves.

But there was no sound of hooves or neighs, and no flowing motion like the one Hail had used to attack Potter. That something had happened, though, Draco had no doubt. There was too much prickling awareness working its way along the nape of his neck and down his spine.

Then he heard something that was like a displacement of air, and smiled a little. Yes, there it was. Without standing, Draco slithered on his belly to the far side of the tent-house and looked out through a slit in the half-transparent door.

Nothing now. Draco was fairly sure that there was a wizard out there, though, and not one who meant him any good. Again he brought his wand up, and his mind filled with the sorts of charms and curses that would work against elemental magic, which he assumed most of the soulless—

_Markless, damn it_.

—would wield.

His unseen opponent was being more cautious now, though. Probably Draco wouldn’t have sensed them at all if not for years of sleeping lightly when he was on Auror duty. And he was growing tired of waiting, and wanted to see who he was dealing with.

Making sure that no sound slipped past his lips, as had used to happen when he was first practicing with wordless magic, Draco chanted an incantation in his mind and moved his wand from left to right, ending with a little curlicue in front of his chest.

_Occaeco lucem_.

A soft glow began to pick up in front of his eyes, and then spread out to encompass the cot and the floor and the sides of the tent-house. Draco nodded to himself and then moved slowly onto his side, letting his head, and thus his sight, extend a little past the bottom of the door.

The Invisible Light Charm lit the darkness for Draco, but only for Draco, not revealing anything to his enemies. Draco saw outlines and living beings lit up with a wavering green-grey radiance that reminded him of pine needles in color. It was somewhat disconcerting to get used to when he’d first learned the spell, but it would get the job done.

And it did. It showed him the figure who stood motionless and patient by the side of the tent-house, using a specially modified Cutting Charm that turned his wand into a knife. He was slitting the moss and branches that covered the “wall” above Draco’s cot, but not in a way that caused any noise. Pure magic separated bark and other materials, the kind of thing that would alert no one.

And he wore scarlet robes.

_Not the rain unicorns after all,_ Draco thought, surprise slowing his heartbeat for a moment instead of speeding it up. _And not the soulless. It seems the Minister is a little more nervous about what I know than I thought he was._

Draco cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself, and one that would float him slightly above the ground, enough that only the heels of his boots would touch the dust. He still had to be careful, because this was a fellow Auror, but on the other hand, surprise should give him the advantage. The man couldn’t suspect yet that Draco had moved, or he wouldn’t be bothering to cut above the cot.

Draco drifted to the side first, and then moved, subtly, slowly, carefully, towards the Auror. The one big disadvantage of his Floating Charm was that he couldn’t control the speed. He would have to cancel it if he actually engaged in battle; drifting about was suicide when one needed to dodge spells.

He waited, watching, as he drew nearer and nearer. The man had Auror instincts, too, if he’d been through the same rigorous training as Draco. He might react to the same indiscernible combination of clues that Draco had.

But the Auror didn’t turn, and kept his eyes and his wand both trained on the “cloth” in front of him. He had almost cut a hole that would enable him to reach his forearm inside, Draco saw. He tensed and sped up his pace as much as he dared, using a tiny conjured wind to push himself along. Any second now, the Auror would be able to look through the hole and realize Draco wasn’t in bed.

Before the Auror could do that and before Draco could get close enough to strike at him, something else happened.

A fountain of earth erupted at the Auror’s feet, and gigantic stone hands thrust up through the dirt and grabbed hold of the Auror’s legs. The Auror screamed—Draco thought it was probably just from shock—and tried to kick, but the hands were closing relentlessly, pulling him down and backwards, and soon he was up to his neck in earth. 

Draco looked instinctively for his wand. Of course, he probably wouldn’t have been able to use it effectively anyway, with his arm buried to the elbow the way it was, but Draco still didn’t want to dodge the spells of a panicked Auror who had just met Potter’s earth magic.

Then Potter appeared, striding out of the darkness and staring down at his captive. For a second, he looked as if he was debating with himself.

He turned his head a little before he spoke, though, and saw the hole cut in Draco’s tent. In an instant, he wheeled back, his eyes cool, his hand flashing up, and the stone fists thrust out of the earth, tossing and turning the Auror. Draco thought he heard him retch, although nothing came out of his mouth.

By the time Potter settled the stone fists, the Auror was splayed flat on his back across both of them, and clenched around the middle and the legs, keeping his arms pinned by his sides. Potter moved his hands, and a third, smaller fist grew out of the side of one of those enormous stone fingers, reaching up and patting delicately around until it found the Auror’s wand and slid it free. Immediately it turned and tossed the wand to Potter, who caught it and examined it for a second before he tucked it into his robes.

“Well?” Potter asked, walking around so he could catch the Auror’s eye from the ground. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

Not unnaturally, the Auror stayed silent. Draco was doing the same himself, although not because he wanted to creep up on Potter or surprise him. It was pure shock, combined with a tingling, face-flushing sensation that he didn’t particularly want to think about.

He had known Potter could do things that Draco had never heard of any earth mage being able to do. Spinning a cord out of diamond and using it on a creature that could devour souls was one manifestation of that.

But Draco thought of power as being on different levels. There was pure, raw force, which showed up in cases of accidental magic by children and people like the Dark Lord who gained followers because of their sheer might, but who had no finesse. There was the delicacy and knowledge exemplified, in Draco’s mind, by Professor Snape; one had to have that knowledge, or potions would explode around one on a regular basis. There was the sort of training given Aurors, which was meant to meld many different kinds of gifts and make them an asset to each other in battle as well as when it came to protecting others from Dark magic.

But Potter was showing a mixture of raw power and control—that simple wave of his hands that commanded earth and stone—that Draco hadn’t seen in years. Perhaps not ever, since he was also doing it without any other training than what the rain unicorns have given him. Elemental magic was so rare, at least without the accompaniment of a wand, that Draco couldn’t imagine who else Potter would have found to train him.

He was doing this because he _could_. Because he had the skill, and the delicacy, and the knowledge, and the might.

“All right, then,” said Potter, calmly enough, when the Auror continued to remain silent. But he was shaking. Draco moved a little to the side so he could see Potter’s face.

The expression of fury there, as strong as his magic, slapped at Draco’s senses.

_This is for me. This fury, this working over of the Auror, is for me._

The sensations cascaded around in his head, and Draco closed his eyes and took in a breath that burned like mulled wine in his lungs. Then he shook his head and moved forwards, reaching out to lay a hand on Potter’s arm.

He wasn’t looking where he was going, and his foot sank down into what felt like a sand trap. Draco yelled indignantly and flailed his arms. Potter whirled around at once, staring at him, before he jerked his head and hand. The sand released Draco, even floating him back up to level ground with what felt like an apologetic pat on one leg.

“I’m all right,” Draco said. “I sensed him in time. I was here waiting for the attack.”

“Could you remove the spells so I can see you?” Potter tilted his head from side to side, his eyes focusing past Draco’s face. “I know you’re there, but it’s better if I can look at you and see that you’re not wounded.”

Draco snorted and waved his wand, cancelling the Disillusionment Charm and the one that let him drift above the ground. “Here, Potter. And trust me when I say that I’m not wounded. How could I be, when that man and I never even clashed?” He looked up to see the captive Auror staring at him with something like rapt hatred from the clutches of Potter’s stone hands.

“Well, I didn’t know that.”

“Now you do.” Draco took a step back and eyed Potter curiously. “Does that mean you’re going to let him down?”

“It means I could be persuaded to do so.” Potter looked at Draco finally, a wash of relaxation traveling through his body as he studied Draco’s sleeves and his robes as if he wanted to make extra sure that no spell had ripped them. “Do you want me to?”

“Yes, please,” Draco said, trying to sound only polite and not excited that Potter was offering to do something for him, was putting all that immense power at Draco’s command. What if he asked—

_I won’t. He would refuse to gratify me in what I really want, anyway. He doesn’t want to take revenge on the Minister for what happened to him._

But Draco’s desires tumbled in his head like a waterfall anyway, presenting him with tempting image after image. Potter catching de Berenzan up in hands like that and shaking him until he nearly bled out his brains through his ears. Potter smiling as he watched one of Draco’s enemies choking in stone or sand until they agreed to pay the reparations Draco had demanded. Potter at Draco’s shoulder as Draco carved out a new place for himself in the wizarding world.

Draco wanted that, the way he wanted Potter. But he looked away before Potter could see that in his face, and instead studied the Auror as Potter’s hands lowered him and released him. Still, the hands didn’t drop back into the earth. They hovered around either side of the Auror, ready to close in an instant and snatch him back up if he moved wrong.

The Auror glanced at them from a sick, white face. Draco half-smiled. He knew that Potter would never crush someone like that, not to kill them. But he hoped the Auror didn’t know it.

“You know him?” Potter asked.

Draco nodded. Now that he thought about the sick expression, he could match the face to memories. “Yes. His name’s Donald Henson. He came through as a trainee about three years after me.”

“And was there any particular personal enmity between the two of you?” Potter walked around to the side. Henson promptly turned to face him, and then froze as he seemed to realize that his nose was brushing one of the huge rock fingers in front of him.

Draco held back a chuckle and shook his head. “I think he’s probably here on de Berenzan’s orders.”

“Really.”

Potter sounded just the right mixture of doubtful and unimpressed. Henson must have decided that Potter was going to torture him, because he blurted out, “Yes, it’s true! The Minister asked me to track down Auror Malfoy. He said he’d gone rogue. That was it. That was all my orders. I swear!”

“We can’t let him go, though, Malfoy. You know that. Not now that he’s seen this place.”

Draco had to smile. Potter was playing harsh interrogator wonderfully, with a spirit of playfulness that Draco had thought might not still be in him. “You’re right. I wonder what we should do with him.”

Potter didn’t appear to move, but one of the stone hands suddenly dipped down, and even though it went straight past Henson and smashed into the earth, it still made Henson leap and look as if he’d wet himself.

“Well,” Draco said, feeling his voice fall naturally into the words as if he’d been sharing these jokes with Potter all his life, “I could always use a Memory Charm on him.”

“Yes,” Henson said in a hurried whisper, as if de Berenzan was hiding somewhere in the swamp, “that would be best.”

“But could we be sure that no one would realize he was _Obliviated_ , and try to break through the Memory Charm?” Potter gave his head an irritable shake and focused on Henson. “I’m not so sure we can. I think it’s safer to just kill him.” Here one of the stone fingers unfolded and scraped up and down Henson’s waist, as if trying to figure out how fat he was, so that he could crush him.

“It’s not! It’s not! The Minister would send someone else after Malfoy!” Henson was clutching at his robes and trying to speak and hold his breath at the same time, it looked like. Draco turned a little away to hide his grin. “He’s a dangerous rogue! All the Aurors have been told the same thing!”

“How did you find him?”

Draco thought Potter’s question was a little too abrupt for the scenario they were trying to portray, but Henson didn’t seem to notice that, and answered immediately. “I had one of the amulets the Minister made.”

“Amulets?”

Draco didn’t need Potter’s earth magic to sound threatening this time. Henson hastily fumbled in his robe collar—Draco and Potter decided without even speaking, at a glance, that he would be allowed to move that much—and pulled out a tiny pendant made of cracked stone.

Draco took a step forwards, staring. When he was concentrating on the damn thing, it was obviously magical, but it looked so poor that he would have dismissed it as one of those good luck charms that even sensible wizards sometimes wore. He looked doubtfully at Potter.

One of the stone hands curled around the amulet and broke the leather thong that held it on Henson’s throat with a delicate tug. Henson whimpered and fell on his face. But Draco was focused on the savage expression on Potter’s face as he turned the amulet back and forth.

“What is it?” Draco demanded in a low voice.

“It’s stone imbued with a Tracking Charm, and then set with something from you.” Potter gave him a quick glance. “Either a hair or a skin scraping, I would assume. Probably a hair. They could break down and drift loose, and you wouldn’t notice.”

Draco held back the temptation to retort that he _would_ so. He took great care of his looks, but that didn’t mean picking up every hair or skin scraping or fingernail or drop of blood the way it once would have. Sympathetic magic had not only been out of favor for a long time, it was notoriously tricky to practice.

“Where did the Minister get this?” Draco asked, turning back to Henson.

“He went into your house. I don’t know how he made the amulet, I don’t know how many of them there are.” Henson threw his hands into the air as if he could provide a shield for his head and stared at them with such obvious fear that Draco didn’t think he was lying. “That’s all I know.”

“Why did he think I’d gone rogue?”

Henson looked at him with wide eyes. “Because you hadn’t brought back Harry Potter yet. Henson said that either you were in league with him or you’d died trying to find him, and he knew you weren’t dead because of the amulets.”

_Yes, sympathetic magic,_ Draco thought grimly, and looked at Potter. “Is there anything else you want to ask him?”

“I can think of a few questions.” Potter gave him a hard smile and faced Henson. “ _Obliviate_ him afterwards?”

“Probably,” Draco said, just to keep Henson’s terror alive, and stood staring down at his hands while Potter asked some more questions about the Minister’s hunt for him specifically, rather than Draco.

This meant that Draco was not only in more danger than before, he’d lost the thin cover of pretending to work for the Minister. He didn’t think all the Aurors would turn against him, but a lot of them would.

So this meant…

_Step up the rebellion. This is about protecting me now, as well as Potter._

Draco smiled before he could stop himself, and then thought he was being ridiculous. His job was gone now, he was a hunted criminal like the ones he’d so often brought in, and he was allied with a man who might or might not agree with Draco on the best course of action.

But it also brought him the sensation of standing on a high cliff under the stars and breathing in the night air. 

_I’m free._


	21. Full-Scale

“If we’re going to plan for a rebellion against the Ministry, then we need to do it properly.”

Potter started. It was an annoying habit he’d been doing since Draco had got him inside Potter’s own tent—nicer than his, of course, with sweet-smelling moss on the floor—and Draco was getting tired of it. “What do you mean? We’re not rebelling against the Ministry. We’re only trying to bring the truth to light.”

“I was willing to accept that when it was only de Berenzan being suspicious of you and the Ministry deserving to be paid back for what they’d done to the markless.” Draco leaned on what looked like a wardrobe, or at least something made of extremely hard wood and draped with vines. Who knew, really? “But now he’s attacked me.”

Potter rolled his eyes. “And you take that personally.”

“Of course I do. Didn’t you take it personally when I came after you?”

“No.”

_And he didn’t,_ Draco realized with some dismay, staring into Potter’s eyes and seeing the absolute truth flare in them. _Otherwise, I wouldn’t be here at all._

Draco stood up straight and made his voice brisk. “Well, not everyone has your policy of letting people alone and not holding grudges, Potter. I won’t forgive de Berenzan for this. When he didn’t have any indication I was plotting against him—”

“But you were.”

Draco whirled around. The heat of anger was boiling in his blood with the heat of adrenaline and the wonder of watching Potter’s magic, and he wasn’t in the mood for Potter to be so stubborn and literal and forgiving. “ _Stop saying that!_ ”

Potter only looked at him with his mouth turned down. “I don’t know what you mean about rebellion against the Ministry, Malfoy. It seems a little paltry just for losing your job. Do you want de Berenzan out of office?”

In a minute, Draco found a way he could use the heat. He poured it all into his voice. “No,” he purred, and watched Potter start like a nervous cat. “Not just that. I want to see him pay for what he did to me, and you. I want to see him stop acting like an idiot, the way he did by trying to send me after you and thinking that I wouldn’t figure out what he was hiding. I want lots of things.” He paused, but Potter was only gaping at him a little instead of in full flight, and Draco thought that meant he could speak what was on his mind. “You’re just one of them.”

“W-what?”

Draco wanted to roll his eyes. He probably would have, and walked away from this as a bad job, if he’d been any less hot, or Potter’s magic any less impressive. There was oblivious and then there was infuriatingly so.

But he couldn’t let this go. He had tossed the dice, and he was going to do his best to help them land in the way he wanted.

“I want you,” he said. “I first had the thought last night, but it wasn’t a welcome one. Then I watched you fight Henson, and in particular, the way you reacted when you thought he might have hurt me.” Draco pressed a step closer.

“I just didn’t want you to get hurt for helping me. I’d have done the same thing if his target had been Ron, or Hermione, or Hail, or Oatten, or—”

Draco got tired of the list, and stretched out his arms. Since Potter was standing near the wall of the tent-house, it was an easy matter to trap him inside a circle. Potter’s jaw worked as he stared at Draco, and Draco raised his hand to trail over it. Stubble had never excited him before, but what Potter wore looked wild and shivering, and made _him_ shiver.

“It’s an honor to be included among your closest friends and enemies,” Draco murmured. This close, he realized Potter _felt_ different than some other wizards he’d been in such close quarters with, and not just because of the stubble. The power that surrounded him was different in quality than the wand magic Draco knew.

It was more solid, and had an earthy smell. Only appropriate, Draco supposed, for what kind of magic it was.

“I’m fairly sure Hail doesn’t want to _date_ me,” Potter snapped, and stood up a little with his arms folded.

It wasn’t enough to get him out of the circle of Draco’s arms, which was all that Draco really cared about right now. “Of course he doesn’t. But you still included him with me, and once you trusted him. I’m asking you to give me the chance now.”

“But I _do_ trust you. I couldn’t have come this far with you if I didn’t trust you.” Potter’s eyes caught and held Draco’s again the way they had when he’d assured Draco he didn’t take being his Auror target personally.

_Enough_. Draco was close, and the heat was surging inside him again, and Potter at least wasn’t trying actively to get away. He pressed his lips against Potter’s, lifting an arm to circle his neck when he made a single, panicky thrash.

Potter made a muffled sound, and a struggle, and another thrash. But he didn’t actually conjure stone arms from the ground to push Draco away, the way he could have. He just mostly stood there and returned the kiss as if he didn’t know what else to do.

Draco finally lifted his head with a slow groan, and ran his fingers across Potter’s cheeks. The stubble that quivered under his hands, and the hot shivers he could see making their way through Potter’s muscles, were good enough to make his eyes close. 

“Malfoy. What. The. Hell.”

Draco grinned at Potter, totally unrepentant. Even now, he wasn’t wiping his lips with the back of his hand or making disgusted noises. That was good enough for Draco to count it as a victory. “I told you. I wanted you. It has a lot to do with seeing you use magic a little while ago, and how delicate you were.”

“Del—I snatched that Auror up and held him over our heads!”

“And you didn’t crush or damage a single line of his clothing while you did it.” Draco would have tried to crowd Potter backwards while he explained the next idea, but he already had him pinned against the tent wall with nowhere to go. “I don’t—Potter, I can’t remember the last time I saw such finesse and such power working together.”

“But that’s not the same as being attracted to someone or wanting to sleep with them or trusting them.” Potter ran a hand through his hair, as best he could when Draco’s arms largely kept _his_ arms pinned to his sides.

Draco rolled his eyes. “Potter, you _do_ realize that you can be attracted to magic?” He pushed in closer, and sighed as the warmth of Potter’s body beamed over him. “And this is what is, in fact, happening in my case?”

Potter only gave him another blank stare. Draco rolled his eyes again and cupped the back of his head, drawing him into another kiss.

Potter went with it, his body shimmying back and forth as if the winds of his own contrary thoughts were blowing him. Draco thought he knew why. On the one hand, Draco was good at kissing. On the other hand, Potter had Potter objections.

He proved that by drawing back again just as Draco thought the kiss had got going nicely, and gasping in desperation, “But you’re going to regret it!”

Draco took the chance to study Potter, from his wild green eyes to his stubble to the line of his jaw to the way small motes of magic trailed his hands in the air, as shiny grey as pebbles, and smiled. “I don’t think so.”

“But you have to.” Potter sounded so earnest that Draco had to bite his lip to avoid smiling, which allowed Potter to speak. He grasped Draco’s hands and stared into his eyes, shaking his head a little. “You have to think about what kind of— _life_ it would be. I’m a hunted fugitive—”

“By the Minister I want to get rid of, of course you are,” Draco said, with a little shrug, secretly delighted to see the way it made Potter splutter. “And by me. Now that I’m on your side, do you really think that matters anymore?”

“Aurors are still going to come after me, and after you. You aren’t _thinking this through,_ Malfoy. You have so much waiting for you—”

“Not when the Minister was already sending fellow Aurors after me.” Even though they had _Obliviated_ Henson and sent him on his way, with a story about losing Draco’s trail during an Apparition and losing his amulet at the same time, Draco knew there were other amulets out there, and other trackers.

“A career,” said Potter, although his jaw had started clenching, and Draco held back his laughter. “A name.” He hesitated, with the air of someone about to jump off a cliff, and then plunged forwards. “A soulmate.”

“Who I’ve rejected. I know who she is, and she’s not worthy of sharing my life.”

“But who says I am, either?” Potter looked as if he was about to launch into one of his self-pity monologues again, and Draco tossed him an impatient glance. Potter narrowed his eyes and responded in a fierce, firm tone, as if Draco’s look had been a challenge to make it sound good. “You don’t know me. Not really. You know I’m good at magic, and that I don’t have a soul-mark, and that’s about it.”

“I know you from school. I know what your courage is like. And I know how much you blame yourself for things that weren’t your fault. As long as you don’t take it out on me and decide that I need to be blamed or sheltered or protected, I don’t care.”

Draco leaned in until their noses were almost touching and Potter was staring at him in what did look like rapt fascination. “And I notice there’s something you haven’t said, Potter.”

“What’s that?”

Draco smiled a little, lingeringly, at how hoarse Potter’s voice suddenly sounded. “You haven’t said that you want to back off. That you’re not attracted.”

Potter’s eyes blinked and fluttered so fast that Draco would have lost money if he’d bet he could count them. “You—you deserve more than me. It doesn’t matter whether I’m attracted or not. This is about you. It has to be,” he added, almost desperately.

“Why does it have to be?” Draco asked. He thought he knew what Potter would say, but he was interested, just in case it was something different than he expected.

“Because you have a chance at love.”

“I told you that my soul-mark—”

“I didn’t actually mean that.” Potter’s voice was gentle enough that Draco blinked and listened. “I mean that you still have a chance to find someone normal to love, someone who’s dissatisfied with their soulmate, too, or maybe someone whose soulmate died. I don’t know. But someone who has a soul and wand magic and can understand you better.”

“You think that you can’t love people because you don’t have a soul?” That wouldn’t be an unreasonable product of Potter’s illusions, Draco supposed.

“I don’t know if I can or not. But I know that I don’t have much to offer you.” Potter didn’t sound as if he pitied himself. His eyes were large and clear and never left Draco’s face. “This is the future, as far as I can tell. Either here with the other soulless and the rain unicorns who want to kill me and might succeed, or on the run from the Ministry. How can I ask you to join me in that?”

“How can you keep me from doing it?”

Potter looked bewildered at that. “You mean you _want_ to?”

“I don’t understand how you can have such good friends and such strong support from so many people for so long, and then act like it’s strange when someone wants to stand beside you.”

“My friends and the Weasleys were exceptions.” Potter glared at him with narrow eyes. “There were a lot of people who turned on me, too. As I recall, you sometimes played a part in that.”

Draco snorted and placed a hand over his heart, then bowed his head and slid into a graceful kneel. “I hereby apologize most sincerely for my part in spreading rumors that Rita Skeeter published and creating the Potter Stinks badges. Is that enough self-abasement, or would you like some more?”

Potter grabbed Draco beneath the elbows and pulled him up, spinning him around. Now Draco was the one with his back to the wall, and he honestly didn’t mind, not when Potter was looming and huffing in front of him. In fact, he shook a little with the delicious, crackling power of Potter’s magic, which he could feel poised on either side of him like boulders that might fall over and crush him.

“You seem to dislike me. And my magic is the only thing you’ve mentioned liking me about me. Why would you want to be with me?”

“Your magic was the first reason, not the only one.” Draco leaned forwards and put his forehead against Potter’s. The scar he had thought he would feel was so soft and faded that he had to concentrate to locate it. “And I think we can change you being on the run from the Ministry.”

“What would happen if you met someone else you wanted to be with?”

“I could ask you the same thing. It might be even more important with you. If you met someone who _did_ carry a soul-mark that you thought was yours, you would abandon me or anyone else to be with your ‘destined love,’ wouldn’t you?”

Red crushed Potter’s cheeks, and he leaned his head on one arm and sighed. “I would at least want to give them a chance.”

“Right.” Draco lifted his hand and laid it alongside Potter’s cheek, flexing his fingers a little and making Potter sigh in response. “Then we both stand the same chance of abandoning each other. We’ll always take a risk, Potter. I know you don’t believe me, but the soulmates you admire so much take a risk, too. What happens if they fail? Then they have the extra burden of knowing that they disappointed the person who placed all their happiness in them.”

“Unless one of them is a _practical_ person, like you, who doesn’t think their soulmate worthy of them anyway.”

Draco smiled. “Only you would think pragmatism was an insult.” He nudged Potter a little, and made him fall back, letting Draco out of his trapped position against the wall. Then he promptly reversed their positions again, and stroked Potter’s cheek. “You have more questions for me, don’t you?”

“Yes. I don’t want you—to feel obligated to date me, or anything like that. We can work together on getting de Berenzan out of office and the slaughter of the soulless stopped without sleeping together, or agreeing on everything.”

“I know that. This is something I want anyway. You’re going to find, Potter,” Draco went on softly, leaning a little closer, “that I don’t ask for things I don’t want.”

Potter stared at him and swallowed. Then he said, “I’m so afraid of messing this up, you have no idea.”

Draco opened his mouth, and then closed it again. _That_ , he hadn’t expected. “Why?”

“Because this might be my only chance. Someone who doesn’t care about me being soulless or unable to use normal magic, and especially doesn’t care that I’m on the run from the Ministry?” Potter choked and shook his head. “I’m afraid of clinging to you too tightly, of doing too much to keep you, of not letting you have enough freedom or letting you go if that’s the best the thing to do. Even if you chose to reject your soulmate, you still had a choice. This—this is my only choice, now.”

“Another tip, Potter,” Draco said, and tried to keep his bubbling anger out of his voice. “No one likes to be told he’s a last resort. Okay? Shut up and kiss me before you say something else stupid.”

Potter was silent, eyeing him, and Draco was sure that he was going to stay something else stupid, probably how this would never work. But instead, he leaned forwards and gave Draco his own proper kiss.

It was gentle, sweet, piercing. Draco found himself swaying with it, and not even noticing until Potter gently caught him and steadied him. Then he turned and nudged him towards the bed, larger and also covered with moss, in the corner.

And Draco went with it, dazed, and not only because of the crackling and clashing of the magic around him. 

A lot more of it had to do with the intensity in Potter’s eyes.


	22. With a Whole Heart

Draco found himself gasping and writhing on his pallet far sooner than he’d expected, especially since he had no idea if Potter had experience with men before.

It appeared that once Potter decided to do something with his whole heart, then he went ahead and threw his back into it.

For example, right now he was sucking on the ridge of Draco’s collarbone. If someone had _asked_ Draco, he would have said he wasn’t one to care about things like that. Fucking and cocks, that was what he liked to talk about.

But now—

And Draco’s back arched and his mouth opened and he made a sound that wasn’t a scream only because he wouldn’t call it that, although perhaps it was better to call it that than a yelp. Potter had slipped one hand down inside his robes and found Draco, curling a loose fist around him.

There was no lube, except the wetness that was already gathering on Draco’s erection, and it was so _simple_ , not sophisticated, with the tricks that Draco had come to expect with other lovers. And yet, he was writhing. He was shuddering so hard that he couldn’t get his mouth to open and speak Potter’s name.

It was so _hot_.

Potter shifted to the side, and suddenly he was lying on top of Draco, hard hip to hard hip, elbow almost in his groin. Draco gasped and stared up at him. His eyes were as green as the earth he commanded, and Draco reached up with a trembling hand to touch his shoulder. It fell short, back, and his hand curled into its own fist.

“What do you want?” Potter asked, and oh, _Merlin_ , there was an edge to his words that could have been Parseltongue.

Draco didn’t have the words right now. He wasn’t sure that he could force them through his chattering teeth anyway. He settled for showing Potter, rolling him to the side and shoving harder on Potter’s wrist so that his hand was pressed between Draco’s thighs. Then he squeezed and thrust with his hips, and watched the faint smile, perfect for a sphinx, that flittered across Potter’s lips.

He lifted his head and kissed Draco, and Draco’s head spun so badly that he had to close his eyes.

Potter spoke again, and this time, it was definitely Parseltongue. Draco made an incoherent noise and squeezed and clasped with his thighs—and not just to keep Potter’s hand in place. He was going to come _far_ too fast if he didn’t. It was insane. No one had ever affected him like this.

_Of course,_ he thought, opening his eyes and watching the hot mist of his breath mix with Potter’s as he lay there half-beneath Draco, _no one else is like Potter, either._

“Faster,” Draco finally managed to gasp, when he realized that Potter was alternating between slow stroking and simply holding. He thrust himself, and Potter gave him a lazy smile and held him still with a simple tilt of his palm.

“What do you want?” Potter whispered. He rolled Draco back a little to the side and raised himself, so that their faces and their chests and their groins were all on a level. He paused a moment, then flicked his tongue out and tapped it against his own lips, so close Draco could feel a ghost of its wetness, but not actually touching him.

Draco groaned pathetically and leaned forwards, but Potter leaned back, and _fuck_ , that _smile_. “Use your words, Draco,” Potter chided. “In any language you like, but _speak_.”

Draco wished he _did_ know Parseltongue, so he could torment Potter the way Potter was tormenting him. But the only thing he could do was say, “Fuck me,” and watch the way Potter’s eyes widened and grew so clear that it was like staring into fire through glass windows.

_He never expected me to say that, no matter what the language,_ Draco thought, and then he fell to the pallet as Potter—Harry—pushed him roughly back.

_Yes,_ Draco thought, stretching his arms over his head, as Harry started pulling off his robes. _I like that distinction._ Potter was the one who had teased him in school, and maybe the one who had teased him now, at least if he kept it up. Harry was the one who panted at him and got his hands tangled in Draco’s robes, as if he had forgotten what a sleeve was.

And the one who bowed his head and crushed Draco’s tongue in a kiss, and then pulled back and hissed again.

_Damn it._ Draco pushed up with his thighs and arms and chest, and then finally Harry was pulling his robes over his head. He kept his handiwork up, rubbing and squeezing, and Draco cried out, sharp and short. 

He had almost come.

Harry found his mouth again as his robes came free, and began kissing him so much that Draco nearly forgot about his own objective. But not for long, when he reached up and found that cloth was in the way. He grabbed Harry’s shirt and jerked at it, making him grunt in question as their mouths were pulled apart.

“Come _on_ ,” Draco said, and panted, and didn’t care about the breathy edge to his words, or how desperate he sounded. Because the important thing was that he get Harry naked, and if he had his wand, he would have _used_ it. “Take—your robes off. I want to _see_.”

He didn’t understand why Harry paused a moment, unless he had scars that he assumed would scare Draco off. But Draco was lying bare-chested in front of him now, and _he_ still bore the silver marks Potter had inflicted with that _Sectumsempra_ spell. So he could bloody well get naked and satisfy Draco.

Finally, the clothes did come off, and even though he wanted Harry completely open to him, Draco took a moment to admire the outline of his cock against his simple cloth pants. When it sprang free, Draco groaned and reached out, grasping in both hands.

Harry bucked up against him, his eyes wide and wild, and Draco barely let go in time. He thought Harry would have come if he’d waited another moment.

Draco didn’t want that any more than he wanted to do the same thing himself. He lay back and arched his hips up, practically waving the cock in Harry’s face.

“Come _on_.”

Harry fell on him.

It was such a blaze, such a whirlwind, that Draco lost his head and grabbed at Harry, hands reaching and clenching and almost tearing into his hair. Harry kissed him again, but they twisted to the side so Draco could have his cock where he most wanted it, and that made him lose hold of Harry’s mouth.

Harry cried out as Draco slid his cock between his thighs. And somehow Draco got his hand away from Harry’s shoulder, shaking and with his thoughts dissolving, and found his wand, and cast the right incantation, one that slicked Harry’s legs with lube.

After that…

Draco knew he was almost wrenching Harry’s shoulder out of joint, the way he was riding him, but he couldn’t stop. Heat rushed through him, and up against him Harry shifted and shoved and moaned. Draco finally did manage to bend down and suck in his mouth again, and Harry stiffened against him and gave a single, thick gasp.

Then there was more warmth as he came against Draco, and Draco bowed his head and let himself fall, finally, into the whirl that had been waiting for him.

They gasped against each other, and for a long moment, there was no sensation other than that. Draco let his head slump forwards until his brow was resting against Harry’s breastbone. His hand smoothed up and down and around skin so slick with sweat that it felt almost clammy.

“That was…intense.”

Harry’s voice was hoarse. Draco raised his head and gave Harry a smile he knew he was lazy. “That’s the only word you can come up with for it?” Well, his voice was hoarse, too, so he supposed both of them were affected. He rolled to the side and wriggled his hips and flank a little into the cool moss, closing his eyes.

He did make sure to keep one hand, as if casually, on Harry’s arm. He thought Harry would probably pull away and start talking about soulmates and the way that he could only love one person again soon.

But maybe the love they’d made had finally broken past that stubborn barrier in Harry’s mind. Instead of transforming into Potter again, he shifted closer to Draco and sighed hard enough to make Draco’s lips twitch a little.

“I don’t—I didn’t know it _could_ be like that,” Harry whispered. “I think most of the time I was thinking about the long-term consequences, you know? Whether this felt right, and was right, and was destined.”

“Good God, Potter,” said Draco, before he thought. “You must have been just the most _romantic_ partner in bed.”

Harry laughed, a sound that was as unfettered as any Draco had ever heard him make. “That was what Ginny said sometimes.” And then he stiffened in that way Draco had thought would happen and muttered to himself, “I shouldn’t be talking about her with you.”

“As long as you don’t go running back to her and talk to her about me,” Draco said lightly, “then I’ll consider this okay. An owl to her and your other friends might be acceptable, assuming that you want to tell them we’re together now.” On the one hand, Potter was so fundamentally honest (and intent on martyring himself) that Draco couldn’t imagine him keeping this secret.

On the other hand…

_They know Potter doesn’t have a soul-mark, now, or at least Granger and Weasley know, and I assume they probably told Weasley’s sister. What are they going to say about him staying with someone who does?_

Draco shrugged and draped his chin over Harry’s shoulder. It didn’t matter much. If they came up with arguments telling Harry he ought to leave Draco, then Draco would fight back against them, and cling to the one he wanted. And if they thought this was a grand idea, Draco would proclaim his enthusiastic agreement, and even call off his family’s feud with Weasley.

_This is what I was missing._

Draco hid a smile and ran his fingernails down Harry’s back. He gasped and shook, and Draco had the feeling he would have stirred back to life if it hadn’t been too soon. Draco nodded and sucked a spot into place on his shoulder.

_This is what everyone told me I should have with my soulmate, and this is what it would have been missing. This intensity—it’s a perfectly fine word, yes—and this desire, and this way that I want to make him make all those sounds again._

“I do want to know one thing,” Harry whispered, and his finger reached up and traced the sucking mark that Draco had given him, as if he couldn’t believe it was there.

Draco opened his mouth to comment on the way Harry’s hands shook, and then remembered the way that he had thought he would never have this. He turned the words into, “Fine. What question is it?”

“Do you know who your soulmate is?”

“Would I have decided to reject them if I didn’t know who it was?” Draco asked dryly.

Harry turned and nodded at him. His eyes were bright enough that Draco squirmed a little. “But I want to know—I want to make sure you won’t change your mind,” he said in a rush. “Because, just because other people you knew didn’t have grand romances with their soulmates—maybe you could. Maybe you could have a good life.” He held up his hand when Draco opened his mouth in outrage. “Listen to me, please.”

Draco shut his mouth and eyed him. _Fine. But it’s a great favor. And someday you’ll have to listen to me._

“Already—it’s strange, but already I think I would do anything to make you happy.” Draco would have scoffed at the words coming from anyone else, but Harry’s eyes were so brilliant, and his voice trembled a little, and Draco inclined his head and listened. “I want to make sure that you won’t be happier with someone else, even if you don’t think that right now. Would you ever want to try it?”

“No.”

“You _do_ know a lot about your soulmate, then.”

Draco paused. He’d been ready to rail at Potter’s ignorance and drive to sacrifice himself, again, but it was Harry who looked at him now, his eyes narrow and speculative, and his face a little pale. Draco settled for nodding and leaning his head on Harry’s shoulder. “I knew even before I saw her that she had a—certain reputation. There’s no reason for me to tie myself to her when she’s lazy, unambitious, and sacrificed what gifts she had to a temporary good.”

Harry huffed gently in his ear and began to stroke Draco’s shoulder. Draco tried to hold still and not show how very good it felt. “I thought for a minute that you were saying she had a reputation for sleeping with people or something. That would be a little hypocritical, considering what we just did.”

Draco nodded, but did say, “This kind of thing doesn’t happen very often, Harry. I mean—not that I’ve never had sex before. But I _am_ discerning. And.” He paused, then raised his head when he felt Harry’s hands tighten on him in inquiry. “I’ve very rarely had sex this good.”

Harry didn’t smile, but his eyes were beaming for him. He leaned forwards and kissed Draco again, and Draco regretted the swelling in his lips that meant he had to ease Harry backwards.

“And you needn’t think it’s going to be all sex,” said Draco. “Or magic.” He ran his hand absently down Harry’s shoulder, and thought about the strength in the stone hands that had gripped Henson, and shivered. He wondered if there was a way Harry could teach him that kind of magic, even if Draco had to approach it using a wand.

“I know. There would have been more than that even if we were sharing our lives with soulmates.”

Draco rolled his eyes, but decided he would tolerate those little interjections. Perhaps, after being with him for some time, Harry would get over them. “For one thing,” he said, determined to plow ahead, “we have our rebellion against the Ministry to think of.”

Harry’s shoulders tensed, but he didn’t pull away or try to make a joke the way he would probably have done before. He met Draco’s gaze evenly. “It’s going to be more dangerous for you, now that de Berenzan knows you’re not loyal to him,” he said quietly. “I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to stay here, or somewhere else that his Aurors can’t find you.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “That theory is proven wrong by the Auror that showed up here, oh, an _hour_ ago.”

“Yes. Fine. Wishful thinking. But I need to know what you want, Draco. I told you. I want you to be happy.”

“What I want,” Draco said. “What would make me happy.” He was silent for a moment, playing with the edge of Harry’s hair. Harry was promptly still, watching him.

_He means it. He means it the way most people wouldn’t._

It was that which made Draco sigh, and tell him, even though he thought it might cause another argument. “I want you to stop doubting and questioning yourself so much, and accept that I’m _here_. I want you to stop imagining soulmates who might lure me away, and thinking of yourself as inadequate. Or someone who has to put himself through pain so that other people don’t suffer. Whichever one is closer to what you actually think.”

Harry leaned backwards with a long gust of breath. Draco watched him, narrow-eyed. For a few moments, Harry’s fingers rapped the cot, and then Draco’s wand, and then their discarded clothes. But he gave no answer.

“One of the other things I want,” Draco said finally, and dug a hand under Harry’s ribs, “is for someone to _respond_ when I ask them a question.”

Harry looked at him and smiled, but Draco thought it wasn’t him Harry was smiling at. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll try.”

Draco felt his eyebrows creep up his forehead. “That’s honest.”

“It is. I don’t think I can make all the changes you want. Not at once, at least. Maybe some of them will take years.” Harry reached out and clasped his hands, and although Draco winced a little, he clasped back instead of protesting. “But I’ll take you at your word, and at least say that I’ll take the chance of you being here for years.”

“Yes,” Draco said, hearing the thickness in his voice, and he leaned forwards to rest his nose against Harry’s neck. “Yes, that’s what I was waiting to hear.”

Harry relaxed and smiled, and then he turned his head and kissed Draco’s palm, and they found better things to do than debate philosophy or ethics.


	23. Vaster Than the Sun

“You’re not going to stay any longer?” Oatten was visibly disappointed, sitting up so fast that some clinging pieces of moss fell off his cloak. “But it’s long enough since you’ve been here…there were some people looking forward to talking to you.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea when Hail wants to destroy me.” Harry sat upright and slender next to the cooking fire they’d warmed their meal on. Draco watched him as he ate. He was utterly confident again, the stuttering man Draco had confronted last night vanished. “I’ll only bring you trouble.”

“We partner with the unicorns. They won’t want to destroy _us_. Stay a while.”

“They won’t want to destroy _you_ ,” Harry agreed, with a delicate infection that made Draco have to hide his smile behind the cooking pot when someone passed it to him. “But I’m needed in Britain.”

“You only just came here. Are your visits always going to be like this, flying visits that never do anything they’re supposed to properly?”

Harry didn’t get the chance to answer. Someone else, draped in such a moss-ridden cloak that Draco couldn’t see her face or even be sure it was a woman, turned and pointed straight at Draco. “It’s due to _him_ , isn’t it? You brought him here for some reason we can’t figure out, and now you’re taking him away again.”

“I’m not about to let him become unicorn or Dementor food,” Harry said, with a slight shrug, as if that was the only reason Draco’s fate mattered to him. Draco was the only one who saw the way Harry leaned forwards to pick up a piece of blazing hot meat from his plate with his fingers. “But I brought him here because he didn’t believe that people might not have souls. Now I think he’s convinced.”

Draco knew how to feign it for the benefit of their audience, at least. He bit his lip and lowered his eyes. “I’m sorry I doubted you,” he said in a small voice.

Harry looked as if he was ready to throw the piece of meat at him, but at least the other soulless were eating up the confession. “Now that you _do_ know,” said Oatten, sounding a little more relaxed, “you could come back if you wanted. And spend some time talking to us and learning elemental magic.” He glanced slyly back and forth between Harry and Draco. “I think that’s one of the reasons that you’re jealous of Harry, right?”

Draco only blinked, wondering where they’d got the notion of jealousy, and then saw Harry glaring at him. He must have played it up as part of their disguise, or maybe people knew they had once been rivals and were exaggerating that.

“I’m a little jealous, yes,” Draco said, and looked straight into Harry’s eyes across the fire, pouting. “I want that strength and fire all to myself.”

Harry’s eyes dropped, while the woman in the moss-draped cloak complained that Harry’s magic was made of earth and not fire. Draco concealed his chuckle and dipped up some more pieces of meat and the heavily-spiced rice they were mixed with.

_If he’s told them something more than he told me, something he wants me to go along with, he’s going to find two can play at that game._

*

“I wonder how you feel about certain Dark rituals,” Draco said casually to Harry, once they’d made the necessary Apparitions and were back in his house. He already had the block of crystal he would need in his hand, and if Harry refused to help him, then he would simply shut the door and lock himself in the lab until he was done. But it might be easier with earth magic that would make the crystal react in interesting ways.

“Nothing that requires blood or pain,” Harry said, in a voice that made it sound like such a practiced answer, Draco paused and stared at him. Harry let his eyebrows crawl upwards. “What?”

“You’ve done this before?”

“How can I answer that question until I knew what ritual you’re proposing?”

“I didn’t mean the specific one. I meant Dark rituals.” But then Draco had to think about some of the earth magic he’d seen Harry perform. It might be neutral, not classified as either Dark or Light, but the Ministry would surely shriek about _some_ of it and try to call it Dark, if only because they were afraid of it.

“I didn’t just learn earth magic and find the soulless. I wandered a bit first. Chances are that I’m okay with it if it fulfills the conditions I told you about.”

“You’ll like this one,” Draco said, and smiled at Harry as he beckoned with one finger. “It won’t cause pain to either of us, and it only needs a little of _my_ blood. And if it causes pain to others…well, we won’t know it.”

Harry, of course, folded his arms and planted his feet. Draco rolled his eyes. “I’m going to destroy the sympathetic magic amulets that the Minister is using to track me,” he said.

“I didn’t know that was possible.”

“A lot of the things the Ministry doesn’t want you to know are possible, they’re banned and declared Dark.” Draco cocked his head and tried to look winsome, although from the slow look Harry gave him, he wasn’t very good at it. “Please?”

“Fine.”

Draco led the way triumphantly into the lab, and still locked the door once they were both inside. There would be no interruption from Harry, but if someone knocked on the door—or broke it down and tried to arrest him—then he would need, at the least, the minute the extra safeguards would provide.

Harry shook his head a little as the protective spells engaged. Draco paused. “Did part of your training include sensitivity?”

“I think it _induced_ it.” Harry rubbed the back of his hand as if something tingled there. “I had to learn how to distinguish different kinds of rocks and soils from one another. That seemed to include picking up magic.”

“I really want you to teach me earth magic.”

Draco thought he could let his voice tingle with his own intensity and longing because they were alone, but then he saw the way Harry winced and turned his eyes away, and he thought, _Maybe not_.

“I don’t know that someone who’s still using a wand can master it the way I had to.”

“You were driven to master it knowing that you couldn’t use a wand ever again,” Draco summed up, as he put the block of crystal on the table in the middle of the lab and his silver scalpels and chisels down next to it.

Harry nodded. 

“Well, then, if it’s mostly a matter of will, it ought to be no problem.”

“You want revenge on de Berenzan that much?”

“I want to share what you have that much.”

That left Harry blinking and standing there with his mouth slightly open, the way Draco had thought it might. Satisfied, he turned back to the block of crystal and spent a moment standing there, orienting himself to the tools on the table. He’d already washed them to clean them of any trace of leftover magic from the last time he’d done a ritual with them, as well as more ordinary dirt and blood.

When he closed his eyes and opened them again, he was settling into the middle of a deeper stillness. He picked up the nearest chisel and tapped it once against the block of crystal. It rang with a high chime. Draco nodded, and then drew up one of the scalpels and held it over his arm. Again and again he chimed the chisel against the crystal, listening to the note, gauging the tone and the pitch.

Then he cut into his arm with the scalpel, and imitated the tone of the chime as best he could with his scream.

“ _Christ_ , Malfoy.”

That was a Muggle oath, and it was a mistake, just like using Draco’s last name was, Draco was sure. He serenely ignored Potter for the moment, and laid the chisel back on the table. Then he took up the scalpel and rested the bloody end on the top of the crystal. There was a small hollow there, invisible when seen from a distance, seemingly carved by some pool that had vanished.

“Draco?”

“Shhhh,” said Draco, and twisted the scalpel slowly back and forth. He could have used a knife, but that didn’t have the same connotations of precision and cleanliness that a scalpel did. Obedient to his intent and the swirling motion of the scalpel, the blood began to spiral into a thin crimson thread that pierced the heart of the crystal. Draco twisted until he was sure that all the blood was gone from the scalpel, and then turned his head and smiled at Harry.

“I’d like to use some of your earth magic, if I can,” he murmured. “Can you affect the crystal?”

“I’ve only tried to affect ones that are naturally growing out of the earth before. Never one in the middle of a ritual, or carved like this…”

“Try.”

Draco must have got the inflection right, just the right mix of persuasion and sweetness that he wanted, because Harry nodded and moved forwards, biting a little at his lip. He rested a hand on the crystal block, and closed his eyes. “The idea is to infuse the crystal with enough of your magic and essence that it’ll reach out to the amulets the Minister has,” he murmured. “The blood will make a connection with the hair or whatever it is they have. And then we’ll shatter the crystal, and send the shattering racing up the connections, and they’ll shatter the amulets. Right?”

Draco stared at him. But Harry didn’t have his eyes open, and all he did was half-open one of them after a moment and look impatiently at Draco.

“Yes,” Draco breathed. “It’s incredible, how much you know without being told.” He moved behind Harry and placed his hands on either side of his waist. “Infuse the crystal with your magic. It’ll make it stronger.”

“The bond. Not the crystal.”

“Of course not the crystal,” Draco said, and let his lips brush behind Harry’s ear. “That would be counterproductive.”

“The way you’re _touching_ me is counterproductive, if you want a clear amount of earth magic infused here.”

“Come, Harry,” Draco said, and smiled into his skin when he felt Harry tremble and knew how those words had affected him. “Are you telling me that Hail and the other unicorns never tried to distract you when they were training you? If only because they might hope you would fail and give them a meal? You can’t tell me that.” He worked the tips of two fingers under Harry’s overlong shirt and traced up and down the soft skin over his ribs.

“You are going to kill me,” Harry murmured, but he still focused on the crystal and didn’t try to move out of Draco’s arms. Draco rested his chin on Harry’s shoulder to watch, his skin buzzing with triumph.

The magic became visible as it twisted into the crystal. Suddenly there was a clouding around the crimson thread of Draco’s magic in the middle of the block. It grew like frost on the panes of a window, spreading out across the crystal and then up the sides, until Draco seemed to be looking at the blood through frosted glass.

“I can feel them.”

“The amulets?”

Harry only bobbed his head in an abstracted manner, as if to say, “Of _course_ the amulets.” Draco let his fingers stay resting on Harry’s sides, but didn’t move them now. There was pleasure and there was suicide.

“I could shatter them,” Harry said, and Draco trembled himself under the resonance of power in Harry’s voice. “But—I don’t know. If I do this with such power, and they’re wearing the amulets, it’ll probably kill them.”

"They want to kill me. Or at least de Berenzan wants to kill me." Draco nuzzled his chin further into Harry's hair and closed his eyes on a long sigh of bliss. "What do you care? What do you care at all?"

"I care because the individual Aurors might or might not know what he's doing."

Harry's voice was utterly steady even as he poured more magic into the crystal. Draco sighed and rolled his eyes. Ultimately, Harry was in charge of this part of the ritual and not him. "Then do what you think best."

"Thanks, I will." Harry's voice had a strange hollowness to it, as if he was shouting through a cavern. Draco opened his eyes in time to see a tunnel of light opening in the middle of the blood and clouding in the crystal.

The tunnel turned and expanded, as if they were looking at it from the side or moving constantly, rather than the tunnel itself. Then it turned up like a tube and sank into the blood. Draco could hear the humming now, as Harry's magic formed the connection between the blood and whatever other parts of Draco lay in those amulets.

Strangely, he could feel the buzzing in his own bones, too. Draco shook his arm a little, frowning. Sympathetic magic was supposed to affect him, yes, but in this case just by drawing the Aurors to him or him to their amulets, not letting him feel anything once the blood was out of his body.

He wondered for a fleeting moment if what Harry was doing could shatter _him_ , but a second later he shook his head and steadied himself. _Harry would never let that happen._

The buzzing died for a long second, although Harry was muttering to himself and Draco could still hear the hollowness in his voice. Now it was more like the wind moaning through a cavern than Harry saying it, though. Draco tensed in anticipation as he watched the crystal began to vibrate, turning a little, dancing in place.

One of Harry's hands rose, clenching. It reminded Draco of the stone fists that had trapped the Auror in the forest. He opened his mouth to say something about that, sure he wouldn't interrupt fatally. From the power he could feel in the room, Harry was nowhere near the level he needed to shatter the crystal yet.

Then Harry _yanked._

Draco found himself yelping and tossing his arms up over his head, as if he could shelter from flying pieces of crystal. But nothing happened as far as that went. Instead, he heard several long cracks and then a groan from Harry. Draco lifted his head and stared around, trying to decide what had happened.

The first thing he realized was that there _were_ several deep cracks in the crystal, which had broken inwards in a star pattern. Draco blinked, a little dazed. He could see nothing of his blood in the cracks, which argued the magic of the ritual had consumed it completely.

But why wouldn't it fly apart? It should have, if Harry had destroyed the power of the amulets.

He turned to Harry, and found him leaning against the table, grimacing. It didn't take Draco more than a second after that to notice that Harry was cradling his left arm with his right, and that the left arm had _bone_ sticking through the skin.

"Idiot," Draco breathed, even as he drew his wand. "You're an idiot."

"Not an idiot," Harry said in a slightly breathless voice. He was still refusing to make any more noise than that, which drove Draco mad. Did he think it was _heroic_ not to scream when you had a broken arm? Or just required if you were a hero? "I--pulled the force back. It had to go somewhere, but I made it go through--me instead of the Aurors. I knew with my earth magic and my affinity for the crystal defending me, it wouldn't--hurt me as badly as them." He smiled at Draco. "But the amulets are still destroyed. I felt them go."

"You _hurt yourself to spare them pain._ "

"Um, yes?"

Draco moved closer, and nearly forced Harry to back up before he remembered about his broken arm and how he would probably jostle it if he moved much further. He hissed between his teeth and shook his head, reaching out to rest his wand against Harry’s bone. “Like I said,” he whispered, “idiot.”

Draco wasn’t a trained Healer, but he did know enough spells to fix battlefield injuries, and this looked like one. He held Harry still as he repaired the crack in the bone, and then rubbed the arm with a Numbing Jinx and another spell that would ensure Harry couldn’t move the part of the arm that had broken. Harry flexed his shoulder with a grimace.

“ _Don’t_ do that again,” Draco said.

“But now they can’t track you. And they aren’t hurt.”

“You are.”

Harry shrugged, and said nothing. But Draco knew the answer, knew it from the way he’d fled the wizarding world rather than cause “trouble.”

Draco hissed and moved forwards to lay his hands on Harry’s shoulders, forcing him back against the table this time. Harry went, still staring at him.

Draco’s feelings surged inside him, more complex and vaster than the sun, full of fierce affection and exasperation as sharp as that broken bone.

In the end, he settled for kissing Harry again and muttering a few warning words against his lips. There was nothing else he could do that would give the slightest hint of what brewed inside him.


	24. Like a Flash

Thank you again for all the reviews!

_Chapter Twenty-Four—Like a Flash_

“I’m starting to think I’m never going to understand you.”

Harry grimaced and ducked his head as Draco performed another healing charm on the broken bone in his arm. Draco sat back with a sigh. He’d fetched a couple books from one of his hiding places and looked up healing spells in them, but none of them were putting the bone back the way it had been before Harry broke it.

“Is it so hard to understand that I wanted to spare someone suffering?”

Draco cast him one glance as he laid his wand along the bone again and tried to think about Skele-Gro and make his spell effective by the sympathetic magic of his thoughts. “Of course. When they’re trying to hurt _me_.”

“Is that what bothers you most? That I seemed to care more about them than I did about you?”

Draco flinched and looked once at Harry’s eyes, which had gone dark and burning. “Of course not. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I think it is.” Harry reached out with his good hand and clasped Draco’s wristbone, sliding up to wring his hand. “I promise you, Draco, I wasn’t thinking that it would be a good thing if they lived and you were still in danger. I just wanted to solve everything with the least amount of pain to everyone.”

“And that’s what you were doing when you ran away from the wizarding world, too? Trying to cause the least amount of pain to everyone?”

Harry straightened up and probably would have tried to fold his arms, except Draco had thought he might do something stupid like that, and placed a spell that cradled his broken arm and held it immobile. “It _was_. It sounds stupid when you put it like that, but it _was_.”

“It sounds stupid because it _was_ stupid. Oh, no, someone might be tainted by my presence! I think I shall run away!”

“It wasn’t—”

“It _was_.”

Draco abruptly realized that he was leaning across the table, practically shouting into Harry’s face. He pulled back with a wince. After all the thoughts he’d had about getting Harry excited, and the way he’d congratulated himself for keeping him calm while he tried to heal his arm, now he’d gone and done this.

“I know you think it sounds stupid,” Harry said softly, after a long moment when both of them had kept their eyes on the bone pressing against the flesh of his arm. “But it wasn’t. It _really_ wasn’t. I was only trying to do the right thing.”

“Is that what really matters to you? The right thing?”

Harry hesitated, and Draco felt something in him relax. Unlike the quick action Harry had taken to shatter the crystal and the amulets and yet spare the lives of the Aurors who had them, this time Draco would have been upset if Harry had known the answer right away.

“I don’t know,” said Harry finally, his eyelids folding in a little as he frowned. He started to tap the fingers of his good hand in a rhythm on the table. “It was, for a long time. If I didn’t do the right thing, then people would die.”

“Well, then you know what the right choice is now. Acting against de Berenzan and his Aurors,” said Draco, leaning forwards so he could stare directly into Harry’s eyes. “The markless children will continue to die if we don’t oppose them.”

Harry bit back whatever he was about to say. Then he said, “But I wasn’t thinking of saving them when I ran.”

“Obviously, or you would have stayed and tried to fight the Minister.”

“I _meant_ that as proof that I don’t always do the right thing.”

Draco snorted and leaned back once more to look at Harry’s broken arm, shaking his head regretfully. He really couldn’t come up with a way to heal it more than this. Soon, they would have to risk taking Harry to a Healer. “Fine, but now you know what the right thing is. It’s good to know it doesn’t _always_ matter to you, or I would have walked away from you.”

Harry winced, but didn’t grab him. “Why?”

“Because I want a lover who cares more about me than about some abstract principle of right and wrong.”

“I do. I _do_ care.”

“You’re learning to.” Draco stood up and reached for his wand. “I need to send a Patronus to Granger and Weasley. I don’t know any more magic than this that could help your arm, and I’m no Healer. They’ll know someone who has loyalty to you and some training as a Healer, I’m sure.”

“If you send a Patronus to them and they’re not alone, someone else could realize that you’re allied with them.”

Draco snorted. “Sometimes you seem to think that no one but you ever had any Auror training, Potter. Of course I’m not going to send them a message that just anyone could understand.” He waved his wand back and forth, concentrating, and the pale viper coiled outwards from the tip.

“Always thought it was a ferret.”

Draco ignored that. The fact that his Patronus _had_ been, when he first learned to cast it, was neither here nor there. It had changed into a viper forever after he had decided that he would go without his soulmate. “Granger, your friend made an absolute _mess_ of himself. Get here and clean it up. I refuse to try any longer.”

The viper flicked its tongue once as if testing for the scent of the words, and then turned and sped away along the invisible paths of the air, fading through the wall. Draco sighed and turned back to Harry.

“They’re still going to wonder who her friend is and why you would be cleaning it up,” Harry muttered, even as he slumped against the table.

Draco snorted in incredulity as he went back to his shelf. Another idea had hit him, not one he thought would heal Harry, but which might ease his pain until a qualified person could come. “Are you _always_ this hard to help? I’m starting to see why your friends didn’t seem surprised that you ran away.”

“Only when having people help me could hurt them.”

Draco turned around with the heavy book in his arms and laid it on the table. Then he leaned forwards and stared into Harry’s eyes until Harry started fidgeting and glancing away. Draco nodded in satisfaction and continued in a gentle voice that he wanted to sting and hurt. “I volunteered for this. All right? Your friends volunteered to be your friends. And I actually don’t want to leave, because that would just make you validated in your absurd attempt to play martyr. I’m going to stay with you and make myself as annoying as possible while pointing out all the times I’m right and you’re wrong.”

A small smile touched Harry’s lips. “Then you’re going to annoy yourself, too.”

“Oh, was _that_ one of the reasons you thought I would jump at any chance to leave? Because you would exasperate me too much?” Draco tapped Harry’s forehead with his curled fingers, making him start and try to duck away. “Let me tell you this. I can take any amount of exasperation myself if I get to annoy someone else more.”

Harry stared at him with bewildered eyes. Then he nodded slowly. Draco gave him a smug smile. He didn’t actually think Harry was having a hard time understanding. What he _was_ having was trouble in understanding why his attempts to mope and brood and strike dramatic heroic poses wouldn’t work.

“Now,” Draco said, and opened the book as if nothing had happened. “I’ve had a lot of reason to think about sympathetic magic lately, and it reminded me of this.”

Harry cocked his head so he could see around Draco’s arm and onto the pages. “You have books about elemental magic? But why, if you never learned it?”

“Because I thought I might want to learn it. Now that I have a teacher, you see how wise I was.”

Harry rolled his eyes and muttered something about “overly-clever bastards.” Draco only smiled and held the book helpfully open, showing Harry the image of a crystal that someone was running their hands over.

“You used a crystal successfully to break the amulets,” Draco said. “And injure yourself. Why couldn’t you use some rock or crystal or gem or piece of metal that you resonate well with to take your pain and ease your arm?” He didn’t know if Harry could heal the break completely, but at least he could try.

Harry frowned intently. He turned a few pages and read them, then sat back. “The problem is that the rock I resonate best with isn’t here.”

“Can I fetch it? Did you leave it in one of your patterns that you were using for power?”

“Oh—sorry. No, I didn’t mean it was _one_ rock. I meant a kind of rock. A ruby.”

Draco had to smile. “Of course you would resonate best with one of the precious stones,” he said, and went into the room at the very back of his house, the one that had all the heirlooms he’d brought out of the Manor. He rarely thought about them now, except on the nights when something tempted him to get drunk and maudlin. And _then_ it was better to brood and think about revenge than be maudlin.

He came back out with his mother’s rings and necklaces spilling over his hands, and put them down in the center of the table. “Here,” he said, and made them tilt and catch the light. “Are bigger rubies better?” One of them was a ring with a ruby in the center that Draco frankly hoped Father hadn’t bought for her, because it was in such bad taste. Or at least he might have bought it when they were young and stupid.

“I—Draco, I can’t take your mother’s jewelry.”

“It’s mine now,” Draco said quietly.

“I know, but—they’re for your family.”

“As it stands right now, do you think I’m going to have a traditional marriage and children I can leave heirlooms to? Do you think I even care about such things in the traditional way anymore?”

Harry spent a long moment staring at him before he nodded in what looked like acceptance, instead of resignation. “All right. Can you put everything that has a ruby in front of me? I have to see which one feels best to me.”

Draco nodded and cast a quick charm that swirled all the rings and necklaces and brooches that had rubies into one place in the center of the table. Harry leaned forwards, elbow resting on the table. Draco concealed his frown at the breach of manners and waited to see what would happen. A hand waved over them? Or would Harry conjure a stone and use it to feel out the resonances of the rubies somehow?

Neither happened. Instead, Harry opened his mouth and sang a single piercing, clear note that made Draco jump and look instinctively at the glass of his windows.

But nothing shattered. Instead, Draco heard a high note, singing back to Harry. He turned and saw Harry nodding at the gaudy ring. “That one.”

“Good.” Draco used his wand to free the ruby of its golden setting without damaging the rest of the ring. “I never liked it anyway.”

“And the ruby is glad to be free.” Harry laid it on the table and then stretched his broken arm over it, wincing only slightly at the pull of his bone against his skin. “You might want to look away. This won’t be pretty.”

Draco leaned obstinately forwards, and Harry rolled his eyes. “Fine, then.” He sang again, this time a soft humming noise that seemed to vibrate in Draco’s bones the way Harry’s attacks from under the earth had.

The ruby began to spin in place, its facets glittering more and more brightly. Draco had time to shield his eyes in the moments before it glowed, shedding an intense red light through the room that drowned the fire.

Three more pulses of red light followed, and finally Draco felt able to lower his arm and stare at Harry. Harry was cradling his arm with less pain than before, and Draco couldn’t see the shape of the broken bone anymore. The ruby was a pile of uninteresting rusty flakes on the table. Draco swallowed. He supposed he could see one reason why elemental healing magic wasn’t more common. Most wizards wouldn’t be able to afford all the ingredients. 

“Is it set now?”

“It hurts less, and the bone doesn’t feel as though it’s forever scraping and grinding against the others.” Harry gave him a tired smile. “It’ll hold until we can find a way to have a regular Healer look at it. Thank you, Draco.”

“You _have_ to teach me that.” Draco scooped up the rest of the jewelry and cast a spell that washed the red dust off the table.

“If you want, we can start looking for the jewel you resonate with. It’ll take a while, though, because Hail didn’t seem to think that there was any reason a person would resonate with one more than another.”

“Well, a ruby isn’t surprising for you, anyway.”

“Because of my temper?”

“And the Gryffindor connotations, and the fact that of course you need a precious stone instead of a semiprecious one to work your magic.”

Harry rolled his eyes. "It's only magic on my body, like that, that I need a ruby to work with. You saw what I did with perfectly ordinary circles of stones and pebbles before this."

"Why should magic that mimics Healing be harder than magic than mimics Apparition?"

"If I knew, I would be a magic theorist and a genius, and we probably would have stopped de Berenzan already."

Draco opened his mouth to say that it had taken a magic theorist to work out how someone could use ancient stones carved by humans for the human touch that such magic required, and then stopped. For one thing, someone was knocking briskly on the door.

For another, he wasn't sure that Harry _needed_ to hear that he was a genius. Not right now, anyway. The only thing worse than a Potter martyr was a Potter with a swollen head.

Granger swept in the minute Draco opened the door. At least, he assumed it was Granger. He caught only a glimpse of the frizzy brown hair under the swimming colors of a Disillusionment Charm, and then she was past him and hugging Harry so tightly his face turned red.

"At least drop the Charm, Hermione," Harry managed to gasp against her neck.

"Of course," said Granger in the strange sort of muffled voice that people had when Disillusioned, and she did. She was standing there in Draco's drawing room now, a blaze of color, eyes fixed on Harry as if she intended to hug him with those, too. "What's this about you needing a Healer?"

“Broke my arm containing the backlash of a spell,” said Harry, and motioned with his chin towards his arm. Draco thought Granger might be more suspicious— _he_ would have been if Harry was saying that sort of nonsense to _him_ —but she only nodded and took out a thick white towel with blue edging.

“What’s that?”

Granger looked at Draco without seeming to see him; much of her attention was focused on Harry. “It’s a towel with a Healing charm that one of our contacts at St. Mungo’s prepared for me. I thought it was probably too dangerous to bring a Healer here, but this will bind the bone in place until it fully heals.”

“You came yourself, but you thought it was too dangerous to bring a Healer,” said Draco, his head slowly tilting as he thought about that.

“You already attracted attention with that Patronus, especially since I was in a meeting at the time.” Granger tucked the towel around Harry’s arm, making sure two of the blue edges met. Draco felt the magic engage, and sighed out a little as he sensed the soft change in the air. “I didn’t want to risk more.”

Draco snorted a little and moved away, to give Granger and Harry some privacy. When they’d spoken softly for a few minutes and were starting to laugh, he broke in to ask, “What’s been going on with the _Prophet_?”

“Doge has planted some good stories asking about the Ministry’s policy on Dark Lords, and hinting that they might kill them in the womb. And Luna has recruited some of the _Quibbler_ readers to ask questions about the ones born without soul-marks.”

“ _Quibbler_ readers.” Draco curled his lip. “Is the rest of the public going to trust them?”

“Once we have some momentum and proof behind us, they will. This is sowing the ground.” Granger turned her head to meet Draco’s eyes. “You know that, Malfoy. It was part of the strategy you designed.”

Draco acknowledged that with a wave of his hand. He had simply never thought of the hordes of the great conspiracy-obsessed marching behind Lovegood as she directed them against de Berenzan.

Now that he thought about it, though, he had no idea why not. It was a _great_ image.

“And Ron is busy gathering some people who want to meet us,” said Granger, with a faint smile on her lips. “Or meet Harry, rather. People who listen to gossip and rumor, like Muriel Prewitt. People who worship the Boy-Who-Lived and will do whatever he tells them to. People like—”

“ _Really,_ Hermione? You _didn’t_!”

Granger ignored Harry’s groan, and kept speaking to Draco, only her twitching lip giving her away. “Harry’s official fan organization, the Harryheads. We’re going to be late for the meeting if we stay here much longer. Come on.”


	25. The Harryheads

“We have a special guest today.”

Granger had gone in front of them—to prepare the fan club, evidently. Draco watched in some amusement as Harry leaned his head in his hands and groaned. There was a faint shimmer around the wall he stood nearest, as if Harry was thinking of vanishing into the stone and ducking away through it.

“Are they that bad?” Draco asked. He’d never heard of the Harryheads before, which suggested that they didn’t get up to many reckless stunts or law-breaking ones.

“They’re terrible,” Harry said, ripping his hands away from his face to glare at Draco. “You remember Colin Creevey?”

Draco nodded after a moment of searching his memory. “The boy with the camera who died in the Battle of Hogwarts?”

“Right. Well, they’re all almost as bad as him, except that they have this conviction that they’re my only true fans, the only ones who really care about me, except Ron and Hermione. And I think they only accept _them_ because they’ve been with me for so long and they’re war heroes in their own right.” Harry made a face. “They write angry letters to the _Daily Prophet_ about their articles when they cover me and they’re probably writing angry letters to the Minister as we speak. They have this _newsletter_ where they constantly debate the meaning of my scar.”

Draco struggled to control his laughter. “How do you know?”

“Because they send me copies of it constantly. They’re begging me to confirm that it’s my soul-mark and ‘lay to rest all the pernicious rumors that someone outside the club is going to be soulmated to you.’”

There was a tone creeping into Harry’s voice that Draco didn’t like, so he did something about it. He reached out and grabbed Harry’s ear. Harry stumbled, his voice incredulous as he braced himself on Draco’s shoulders with both hands. “Draco, what the _fuck_ — _ow_ —”

“The next time you start whining about soulmates and soul-marks,” Draco told him generously, twisting the ear a little more to see the way Harry writhed and tried to get away, “then I’m going to do this to both ears, with both hands. The time after that, well, I know a spell that will do it for me. You’re not allowed to whine about it anymore, not now that you have me. All right?”

Harry was staring at him with wide eyes. Draco yanked again when he said nothing. Harry made a garbled sound, probably out of disbelief as much as pain, and Draco let him go.

Harry took a deep breath and rubbed his smarting ear for a moment. “You’re vicious when you want to be,” he muttered, his voice half-resentful.

“Yes, well, there’s something unattractive about you when you’re once again drifting into reveries about what it would be like if you had a soulmate. The fact is that you _don’t_ , which means that you’ll have to put up with what you do have. All right?”

Harry looked at him again for a second, then looked down. “It’s not putting up. I do—care for you.”

Draco nodded briskly, aware that he could hear Granger coming back and she would probably escort them out of this little stone anteroom in the next second. “Good. That’s good to hear.” And he didn’t kiss Harry because they didn’t have time, but he did reach out and tweak his robe collar straight.

Harry gave him a weak smile, which Granger broke into as if she didn’t see it. Maybe it was something she no longer looked for with Harry, Draco thought. _It’ll probably take her a while to get used to seeing her best friend with someone beside him._

“The Harryheads are very excited about supporting you, Harry.”

“You _did_ explain that none of them have a chance with me anymore? And that I have no soul?”

“Harry.” Granger rolled her eyes, which Draco had to admit made him feel good. Sometimes, at least, he would have companionship in his determination to chide Harry. “They would support you if you killed the Minister in public. They’d decide that he must be a secret Death Eater before you ever finished speaking.”

“Really?” Draco murmured to himself. “Think we can convince de Berenzan to meet us here?”

Harry rolled his eyes in turn and strode into the room. The deafening cheer that followed made Draco cringe. Granger only stood with her arms folded and an irritating little smile on her face. Draco followed Harry and blinked at the lights that immediately exploded in his face.

It seemed most of the Harryheads had cameras. Well, as long as the pictures didn’t end up on the front page of the _Daily Prophet_ before they were ready for the story to spread, Draco didn’t really mind. Pictures of him standing beside Harry and resting his hand on the small of Harry’s back—as he reached out to do in the next second—would only cement the claim he had to Harry and that all people should respect.

There were dozens of men and women in the room, which was either shaped like an amphitheater or had been transformed into one for the occasion. There were plush seats, and most of the spectators had small badges somewhere on their robes that showed a crude sketch of Harry’s face. The glasses and the lightning bolt were overwhelming, but more dazzling were the flashing letters on them that said HARRYHEADS.

Draco bit his lip so he wouldn’t start howling with laughter. He knew he wouldn’t stop once he had started.

“I _told_ you,” Harry muttered, not far enough under his breath. Half the audience immediately craned forwards, and some of them started waving flags and banners that proclaimed Harry’s innocence.

“What did you tell him?” said at least six different voices, in a mingled chorus that made Draco have to wrap his arm around his stomach. “You can share it with _us_ , Harry!”

One voice went on after that, from the mouth of a man who looked Muggleborn with his horrible glasses and a framed, unmoving photograph of Harry that dangled on a chain from his hat. “Why would you share anything with _him_ in the first place? He’s your enemy!”

Draco opened his mouth, but he didn’t have to. Harry whirled around in front of him and narrowed his eyes on the man in the hat.

“He’s been one hell of a strong ally for an enemy,” Harry snapped. “He’s the one who convinced me that I didn’t have to run for the rest of my life because of the Minister’s paranoia. He’s the one who taught me pride and that my place is _here_ , in the world I helped save. He’s the one who’s chided me when I’ve been wrong and taught me better.” He turned and gave Draco a soft smile.

Draco blinked. They hadn’t discussed this, but suddenly he had the knowledge of what Harry was going to say next.

And absolutely no desire to stop him.

“And he’s my lover,” Harry said, and reached out and linked his fingers with Draco’s.

Draco caught one glimpse of Granger’s wide eyes before the crowd started yelling. Draco flinched a little, instinctively, from the noise, and Harry tightened his grip and reached down to the floor.

There was a rumbling noise, and a sleek column of stone shot out and rose up to touch the tips of Harry’s fingers. Harry tilted his head haughtily. The stone continued on around them, becoming a circular wall. Draco thought it was the right height to just reveal their heads, and nothing more, to the audience.

 _Appropriate, considering their name,_ Draco thought, and his laughter bubbled up again. He restrained it to a small chuckle probably lost in Harry’s words.

“Yes, I chose someone. And someone _chose me_.” There was absolute reverence in his words as he turned his head and locked his eyes with Draco’s. “Not because of my name or because I’m a hero, or even because I’m famous and could make them famous because they were with me. Because he wanted me.”

 _Because you’re great and intriguing,_ Draco thought, but that was a clarification these _Harryheads_ didn’t deserve. He nodded.

“Why the wall?” shouted a different person, a woman who had a sign that looked like it was inscribed with quotes. Probably things Harry had said, or supposedly said, in the _Daily Prophet_.

“Because I didn’t trust you not to throw things at us.”

There was a general movement of hands behind backs, and Draco thought he saw more than one person retracting objects that might have been balls of paper or something more harmful. He snorted.

“Did any of you think you stood a chance with Harry?” he asked. “I mean, did you _really_ think that, rather than making up gossip that you could brag to your friends about?”

“ _Draco_ ,” Harry mouthed at him, but he refused to feel sorry. Anyway, the man who had Harry’s picture dangling from his hat was answering.

“We thought there might be a chance.” Draco thought he was striving to sound dignified, but he didn’t. He sounded squeaky-voiced, and his dignity was undermined by the awed way he stared at Harry. “We had a better chance than you did, _Death Eater_.”

Again Harry answered before Draco could. “He’s more than paid for his crimes. I don’t know what _you’ve_ done that’s so great, Dusty.”

Dusty—and was that a nickname for his first or last name? Draco must find out—choked and stared at Harry. Draco tilted his head. It seemed Harry had the power to hurt them far more than Draco had anticipated, simply because they had the kind of delusions the _Daily Prophet_ encouraged when it came to Harry.

“You don’t want us?” someone else whispered.

“I want someone who can respect me in the ways I’ve already talked about,” said Harry firmly. “Draco can, and he’s helped me besides.” He smiled at Draco in a way that made Draco flush. At least the stone wall was high enough to conceal some of his other reactions. “You may have wondered why I ran away from the wizarding world and why the Minister was seeking me so desperately.”

“Yes! Please tell us!”

That was once again a chorus of voices, but Harry didn’t flinch from the noise as he might have before. He squeezed Draco’s hand again and faced his devotees. He tapped the scar on his head.

“This isn’t my soul-mark. I don’t have a soul-mark. I was born without one,” he continued, raising his voice so he could keep speaking over the murmurs and whispers and rising shouts. “That’s why the Minister wanted to capture me. There have been other people born without soul-marks, but the Ministry kills them under the excuse that they’re going to become Dark Lords. They think all Dark Lords are born without soul-marks—”

“Does that mean you were born without a soul?” Dusty asked in a gap between other voices, sounding more than slightly horrified.

“Oh, not you _too_ ,” Draco said, rolling his eyes and ignoring the glares that came his way. “That’s what Harry here believes—”

“Don’t call him that!”

“Why not? You do, with less of a claim on him.” Draco laid his arm along Harry’s shoulders and felt him relax, nearly melting against Draco. That gave him the ability to laugh in the faces of the people staring at them. “Anyway, that’s what he believes, but I can tell you the only practical consequence is that he doesn’t wield wand magic anymore. You saw the way he raised this stone wall around us?”

The Harryheads eyed him with hostility, but a few nodded, probably because they couldn’t help it. Draco smiled.

“Harry did that with elemental magic alone,” he said, and caught Harry’s eye, not letting him look away even though his face was a ripe apple of embarrassment. “Earth magic. He’s learned new ways to do things that would puzzle master magical theorists. So don’t tell me that he doesn’t have a soul. He has all the creativity and _passion_ necessary to do something like that.”

Harry swallowed, his eyes burning. Draco knew he was witnessing the dawning of something new in them, something that shone like a clear flame, and he would have liked to be alone so they could explore it.

They weren’t alone. But at least the next interruption was more welcome.

“I’m _ashamed_ of you,” Granger declared, her hands on her hips. “You told me that you really wanted to help Harry. Was that a lie? You only wanted to help him when you thought you could shag him?”

“Miss Granger, it’s just that—”

“I know what you think it’s _just_ , Dusty. You always hoped Harry would turn to you. Well, he hasn’t. The most important question is whether you’re going to help him or not!”

Dusty sat down, the picture on his hat swinging like a windchime as he bowed his head. Draco, standing beside Harry, felt the tension thrumming through him. He poked him on the shoulder and whispered into his ear, “It doesn’t matter if they do or not. I’ll be here.”

Harry leaned on him even more strongly after that, and finally waved a hand that sent the stone wall around them sliding back into the floor.

Maybe it was because they could see better now and see how much Harry needed him, but the murmurs got louder in a way that Draco could easily interpret as supportive. He made sure to smile at the white-haired woman who stood up and tapped her flashing Harry badge as she turned to face the others.

“We promised to be here for whatever he needed, didn’t we?” she asked in a way that made the question rhetorical. “And what he needs right now is someone to side with him against the Ministry.” She gave Draco an honestly terrifying smile and tapped her badge with one finger again. “I never liked the Minister much anyway.”

Other shouts of support came from the corners, as if the rest of the Harryheads were eager to show they were trustworthy once someone made the first move. Harry’s hunched shoulders finally dropped, and he moved forwards to shake hands and smile and bend down so everyone could clearly see his lightning scar—although how they were going to determine it wasn’t a soul-mark just from that, Draco had no idea.

He leaned against the regular wall and watched to make sure no one drew a wand. Granger and Harry could act foolishly if they wanted. Draco would keep up his guard.

“You love him.”

Draco didn’t bat an eye at Granger’s words, but only because he had heard her come up beside him. “I think it might be too early to tell,” he said, his head ducked so that his chin brushed against his chest. “But you would probably use those words anyway, Gryffindor that you are.”

“Harry deserves happiness.”

“I utterly agree,” Draco snapped back, and only realized by Granger’s smile that she’d been trying to provoke him into saying something like that.

“And it’s strange that you’re it,” Granger continued in a musing voice. “But I saw the way Harry was looking at you. I’ve only see him look like that at one other person. And that’s when he thought she was his soulmate.”

“Weasley’s sister,” Draco said, with a gusty sigh. He reckoned he couldn’t blame Weasley for coming before him in Harry’s heart, but it was irritating nonetheless.

“You don’t need to worry, Malfoy. Harry and Ginny broke up a long time ago.”

“I know. And for stupid reasons.”

“Because she wasn’t his soulmate, yes.” Granger folded her arms and narrowed her eyes at Dusty, who was now laughing eagerly with Harry as if he’d never questioned Harry’s relationship with Draco. “Do you know, I’m starting to think that we might not know what soul-marks really are after all? We _call_ them soul-marks. That doesn’t make them linked to a soul.”

Draco cocked his head to show he was listening, but didn’t remove his gaze from Harry.

“It’s only legend and custom that make them that way. And as for the idea that they’re going to tell you who you fall in love with…I don’t know about that, either. Maybe they’re the reason I gave Ron a chance at all, because we had twin halves of the same mark, but who knows? I could have been happy with someone else.”

“Pretty big for a Gryffindor to admit.”

“I don’t like things that hurt my best friend,” said Granger mildly. “And the legend of soul-marks does.”

Draco blinked. “So you’re going to change it so that it can’t hurt him anymore?”

“Don’t be silly. What would be the point of promoting a new legend in its place, one that would still make Harry feel left out for not having one? No, the whole point of this is that I’ll change the idea some people have that it shows a perfect romance and there’s something wrong with you if you don’t marry your soulmate.”

“I’ll join you in that, then. There is certainly nothing _wrong_ with me because I don’t want to marry the horrible woman I’m ‘joined at the soul’ to.”

“Who is she?”

Draco ignored the way Granger spoke. It wasn’t like they were _friends_. He fixed his gaze on Harry instead, and watched the way he shook hands and listened avidly to words that must surely have bored him.

 _He only ran in the first place because he thought no one could possibly want to champion him once they knew he didn’t have a soul-mark,_ Draco realized slowly. _Now that he knows they will…_

This was the Harry more like the one Draco had known in school, confident to the point of arrogance, a good listener when he had something worth listening to, a faint amused smile on his face as he inclined his head to the small woman who had to stand on her tiptoes to speak to him, and who looked torn between fainting and kissing him.

_So long as it’s not kissing him. I suppose the Harryheads might have their uses.  
_


	26. Changing Soulmates

 

“So Granger thinks that maybe the belief in soul-marks being linked to soulmates is wrong. We can _think_ they are, but that doesn’t mean it’s true. And if someone gives someone else an extra chance because they have the other half of their mark…well, that just means they may be able to overlook annoying things that would drive them away from someone else. They will themselves into being together because they _think_ that they’re meant to be together.”

Harry had stayed silent while Draco explained. Draco honestly wasn’t sure what he would say, or that he would react at all. He turned a mug of steaming tea around and around in front of him, and frowned at his breakfast.

“Does that make sense, Harry?”

Harry sighed at last and raised his head. “It makes some things hurt less.”

“But only some?”

“Everyone’s always told me how blissfully happy my parents were. If soul-marks don’t mean anything in particular, then maybe they shouldn’t have been with each other? Or it wasn’t a romance—”

“That doesn’t mean it wasn’t a romance.” Draco concealed a sigh as he reached out and trapped Harry’s tapping fingers against the table. Trust Harry to come up with a way to make things sound horrible when he _should_ have been rejoicing that he wasn’t that different from other people after all. “It means it wasn’t a destined one.”

“I wanted it to be destined.”

“Your parents’?”

“No. Mine.” Harry looked up at him, eyes haunted. “Because that would mean it had been worth something after all, all the suffering I went through because of a prophecy. If I had a destined love, that would make up for having a destiny that said I had to fight Voldemort.”

Draco sipped his own tea—thick but still warm—while he thought about that. Well, he supposed he could see it. Someone whose life had been formed by a prophecy would regard a different kind of prophecy with hope, not disgust, as Draco had.

Still…

“I think you’ll find that I’m more than enough compensation for any suffering you went through,” he said, and trailed his fingers through Harry’s, making sure to give him little strokes on his sensitive skin that made him shiver. “And it’s more _Gryffindor_ of you to find your way to love without a destiny, isn’t it?”

Harry had been about to say something else, but his breath caught, and he looked at Draco with twin spots of color burning on his cheeks. “You really—you really think you could love me?” he breathed.

 _He has no idea how attractive he is._ Of course, it was up to Draco to encourage him to see the truth only insofar as it would make him believe _Draco_. “Yes,” said Draco. “And it’s more than your earth magic, or the past we shared. It’s because you have qualities of strength that I never knew you had.”

Harry seized those words and took them in a different direction than Draco had thought he would, the way he was always doing. “Why did you turn against your soulmate? Because she didn’t have the same kind of strength you did?”

“Not the kind that I _demanded_ ,” Draco retorted, and kept himself from touching the fucking mark only by an effort of will. “And no. She was weak. Every time she had a choice, she made the wrong one.”

“Weak how? Magically weak?”

“No. She has no strength of will. She didn’t play any part in the war, did you know that?” Draco rolled his eyes at the puzzled look that Harry gave him. “Yes, maybe at one point her being neutral would have made her more attractive to me. But I decided after I started clawing my way up the ranks of the Aurors that I despised that. You and your friends at least fought for something, even if I thought it was wrong at the time. You at least had _beliefs_.”

“I think most people do.”

“She doesn’t. She got into a situation where she had to make a simple choice. Just _one_. All she had to do was go home early to avoid confronting someone she didn’t want to confront. But instead she stayed and confronted them, and they pressed her into doing something that—ruined her magic.”

“Huh.” Harry spent a moment nibbling his lip, and then nibbling at his bacon. “So part of it is that she’s magically weak, after all?”

Draco laughed, hearing the rasping bitterness in the back of his mouth. “She’s not a Squib. But it’s as if you became an earth mage and then all you did was learn enough magic to shift a couple of pebbles around. She doesn’t want to do anything more than the bare minimum now.”

“You wouldn’t be very interested in me if I hadn’t mastered the earth magic, would you?”

“That was the first thing that caught my attention. But realizing how intelligent you are, and even how noble…” Draco reached across the table for Harry’s neck, and palmed the back of it for a minute. He knew his eyes were soft, but no one else was here to see them, so that was all right. “The nobility bothers me, but at least it makes you do something other than the bare minimum.”

“Ah.” Harry leaned into his touch, his eyes and smile bright. “So your main problem with her is that she’s not ambitious.”

“You can be ambitious in different ways. I didn’t need her to run for Minister. I just needed her to care about something other than living from day-to-day.”

“I see. Well, I can’t pretend that I’m very sorry for her. Because it means that I have a chance with you, which I wouldn’t if you were contentedly married to your soulmate. Or dating her, or whatever.”

“I would have given her up for a chance to have you.”

Harry only shook his head as if he knew something Draco didn’t, which was annoying. But for the moment, he was content to leave it alone, because Harry kissed the center of his palm and then stood up as an ethereal white owl came fluttering through the window.

“I think that’ll be Luna’s special edition of the _Quibbler_.”

Draco settled back with a faint frown. He hoped that he’d convinced Harry, but he didn’t know that he had. Although he supposed it wasn’t very important whether Harry believed that Draco would have left his soulmate for him, as long as he believed that Draco _wanted_ to be here.

Harry was chuckling at the story on the front page. With an effort, Draco interested himself in a story that he fully expected to be filled with references to nonexistent magical creatures. Harry turned the paper so he could read.

_MINISTRY FILLED WITH WRACKSPURTS THAT MAKE THEM KILL BABIES!_

Draco choked. Yes, all right, the headline referenced a nonexistent magical creature, but he hadn’t expected such a bold and uncompromising presentation of the case. He was sure that Doge’s article would say something different. He took the paper away—Harry didn’t protest, but went back to eating—and read it.

_Yes, it is true, dear readers. I, Luna Lovegood, have learned that certain Wrackspurts have entered the Ministry and infected generations of Ministers into believing that people born without soul-marks are dangerous. They’re apparently all Dark Lords. Even though you know as well as I that Dark Lords are extremely powerful and sadistic wizards. It’s strange for more than one to appear in fifty years._

_The Ministry, because of suspicions that are much older than that, killed one or two babies who might have become Dark Lords, and thousands more who were babies. Only babies. They were all listed as having died of a heart attack before their first birthday. What are the odds of that? Our own dear Harry Potter might have been among them, if not for the accident of the war and parents who were in hiding, and Ministry people who didn’t know what they were looking at with his birth records._

_In the meantime, some rogue Nargles who are disgusted at the antics of the Wrackspurts have provided me with some proof._

Draco turned the page and had to admit his jaw dropped when he stared at the copies of the birth records printed neatly on the next two pages. They named pure-blood babies, from old families like the Selwyns, who were all listed as having no soul-mark and the same cause of death.

“How did she get these?” Draco whispered.

“Didn’t you pay attention?” Harry looked up from the toast with his eyebrows arched. “The Nargles, of course.”

Draco scowled at him and flipped back to the article. Lovegood concluded with an air of superiority that was practically dripping off the page.

_These birth certificates could have been those of Harry Potter, you remember me saying? Well, Harry Potter was born without a soul-mark. The lightning bolt scar was never the sign of his soul-mark or even concealing it, but the sign of where Voldemort marked him, the same way that that prophecy said. He’ll be presenting in public in two days, and you can ask him yourself._

Draco turned the paper over, but no, the next article was a breathlessly serious report about how the French Ministry had been taken over by something called the Goldspot Plague that made all the people who talked to Lovegood burst out in giggles. He laid down the paper and stared at Harry.

Harry ignored him for a minute, then looked up and added, “What?”

“She didn’t say where you would be making your speech.”

“Do you want the Wrackspurts to find out?”

Draco aimed his wand along the side of the table, which made Harry roll his eyes and mumble something about how he just didn’t understand Luna’s genius, which made Draco cast a Stinging Hex, which made Harry raise a tiny stone wall with a gesture of his palm that deflected the hex. Draco blinked and leaned forwards to stare at the wall, momentarily distracted. “Where did that come from? Not the stone of the floor.”

“No. I conjured it.”

“Out of what?”

“Air. Magic. The earth that’s always running somewhere.” Harry shrugged. “Where do the things _you_ conjure come from? There’s probably a small pile of rocks somewhere that’s missing a few pebbles.”

Draco shook his head and put aside the magical theory he wanted to debate for the moment, if a little regretfully. “Why didn’t she announce it?”

“Do you want the _Ministry_ to find out?” Harry grinned sharply. “The word is going to spread among the Harryheads and some of those people who know to owl Luna directly. And some of the people who attended that meeting Doge organized, I suspected. They’ll find out soon enough, and when I appear, the Aurors won’t know.”

“Unless some of them owl Lovegood,” said Draco, and scowled. He couldn’t deny that Lovegood made a valuable ally, but he could wish that she wasn’t in charge of such an important part of their strategy. “Did you think about that?”

“She has a charm that will detect harm towards me,” said Harry, and gave a small, pleased smile. “I bound it to a pebble for her.”

” _When_?”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “Yesterday. While you were complaining to Ron and Hermione that they weren’t doing enough to advertise my knowledge of earth magic and lecturing them about why they shouldn’t refer to me as ‘soulless.’”

Draco scowled. Yes, they had met yesterday to discuss some more strategy, and perhaps he had spent time _informing_ Weasley and Granger of why they were going about some of the steps the wrong way. But that was a long way from complaining the way Harry said he had. And a long way from missing something this important.

“You should have told me.”

“Maybe I would have, if you could stop criticizing Ron’s hair for two minutes.”

“I criticized a lot more than his _hair_!”

“Yes, but that was one of the things. And what does that matter next to his strategy or the way that we can use the Weasleys’ reputation as war heroes to make people agree it would be a good thing to support me?” Harry shrugged. “I think that you need to learn to pay more attention to what’s going on around you, Draco.”

Draco narrowed his eyes. Then he said, “There’s a _reason_ that you didn’t tell me, isn’t there?” The man he was listening to now, the one who could plan things like this, would have dragged Draco into the conversation he’d had with Lovegood unless he had a reason for keeping him out.

“Yes,” Harry said calmly, and then grinned at him. “It has to do with the fact that you would have decided it was too dangerous for me to appear in front of a crowd, even if it was a location that they would only know about a short time before the speech. We didn’t want to deal with your complaining, so Hermione and I planned that out when you got into that argument with Ron.”

Draco closed his eyes and bit his lip until he could feel it getting ready to split under his teeth. “You don’t have to manipulate me like that. I would have listened to you. I wouldn’t have liked it, but I would have listened to you.”

He opened his eyes to find Harry’s intensely skeptical gaze fixed on him, and bristled. “I _mean_ it!”

“Right,” Harry drawled. “Anyway, it’s planned now. And Luna has that pebble I enchanted for her.”

“How in the world could you enchant a pebble to—what? Tell if someone’s really a secret Auror?”

Harry shook his head. “To tell if someone’s planning to betray me. All they need to do is write the letter with that intention in mind, and the pebble, which is linked to me because I spent so much time working with it and holding it, will pick it up when Luna passes it over the ink.”

Draco leaned forwards a little, staring. Harry didn’t seem to realize why, and gave him a placid look back as he reached for his tea. “What?”

“How did you enchant the pebble to tell her?” Draco whispered. He might understand whether Harry’s achievement was of the magnitude he thought it was when he heard this answer.

“It’ll flash different colors and make a sound like a horse’s neigh,” said Harry, and grinned a little. “Luna said that was the sound Wrackspurts make. I couldn’t deny her. It was a simple enough request to grant.”

Draco shivered. If the spell had been only one of those things, changing colors or making a noise, then he might have thought it wasn’t that remarkable. But to have both… “Do you know how _wonderful_ that is, Harry? To be able to infuse a piece of elemental magic with not only loyalty to you that enables it to distinguish loyalty or not to you in other people, but to make it able to give multiple warnings?”

“Um, it wasn’t that hard.” Harry shook his head and sipped again, his fingers flitting for a moment as though he wanted to play with the handle but thought that would be bad manners. “I held the pebble for a while and thought about what I wanted it to do, and then I infused it with some of my will and magic. That’s it.”

“Still remarkable,” Draco said, and leaned across the table to kiss him. Harry still seemed a little puzzled, but accepted the kiss willingly enough. Draco pulled back only when Harry’s tongue began lapping at his and he suspected he would lose track of his purpose soon. “And I suppose I can’t blame you for keeping part of that from me. I’ve kept some things from you, like the identity of my soulmate.”

“I assumed you had a reason for keeping it secret.”

“I’m ashamed of her.” Draco raked a hand through his hair and shrugged. “But maybe someday I’ll tell you.”

Harry grinned suddenly. “You don’t have to offer that as a bargaining piece, you know. The only reason I kept this from you was because you would have complained. I’ll tell you in the future. And that doesn’t rely on you telling _me_ things.”

Draco closed his eyes a little. If someone had told him years ago, when he had made his final rejection of his weak soulmate, that someday he would care for someone who had the dangerous weakness of magnanimity, he would have snorted. He couldn’t think of something much less appealing.

Now, he could see the appeal. Now his hands trembled and his mouth filled with saliva, and he was only sorry that they were supposed to see Harry’s friends this morning, so that he couldn’t drag Harry to the floor and have him right now.

He opened his eyes and said, “Now we just need to make sure that all the protections possible are in place when we go to Hogsmeade.”

Harry inclined his head. His eyes were brilliant and sharp, as if he could follow all the twists and turns of Draco’s mind and still approved of them. “Let’s start on that. And continue your education in earth magic.”

_Yes, he was meant for me, no matter what soul-marks really mean._


	27. Break, Break, Break

 

“Luna.”

That was the only explanation Draco had for why he’d been shaken out of a sound sleep, but he sat up grumpily and reached for the cloak that was dangling on a hook next to his bed. Harry was already bounding out the door of the room.

Draco didn’t waste time dressing, just Transfigured his sleep robes into battle ones. Then he followed Harry, who, sure enough, had a hand on the stone wall as if he intended to melt into it and leave Draco behind.

“ _Harry_.”

Harry jumped and whipped around, staring at Draco as if he’d never seen him before. Then he flushed. “Right. Come on.” He extended his hand so he could catch Draco’s wrist. Draco let him do it with a flinch. Their travel through the earth before had been possible, but not pleasant, and he suspected this was going to be even less so, since Harry would be going faster.

He tried to ask what had happened, but found earth and pebbles pressing all around his mouth. Draco kept it grimly shut, and flashed through veins of ore, past rocks that gleamed in a dazzling way from the reflection of no visible light, and under heaps of loose dirt where Harry seemed to be poking his head up to look around. Then they would duck back underground again.

At least they arrived without mishap outside an enormous house that made Draco blink. It had a circular shape, or at least a partially circular shape, but part of it also seemed to be an enormous tower, and part of it made of a swelling ocean wave in rock, and part…

“Where _are_ we?”

“Luna’s house. She rebuilt it after the war. Come on!” Harry was taking off at a dead run towards the house, ignoring the way that Draco snorted behind him. He should have known Lovegood would be the one living in a place like this.

In the meantime, since someone had to, Draco cast several spells that were of value in telling them whether they were running into an ambush. His magic whirled around, seeking out wands and signatures and other traces that would tell of enemies. It disregarded the magical signature of anyone Draco had designed as a friend, which in this case was Harry and Lovegood.

There were multiple different wand cores on the premises, and also signatures that arranged themselves into blazing red circles in front of Draco, with the word _Enemy_ clearly marked underneath. Draco huffed out a protest that would go unheard, and darted into battle after Harry.

The gate was open and didn’t appear to carry any traps, at least. Or maybe the attackers had already triggered them; Draco almost tripped over one Body-Bound wizard staring at the sky.

The wizard wore scarlet Auror robes.

 _Of course he did,_ Draco thought, and bounded over him as he pelted towards the house. It would be the Ministry attacking Lovegood, after her article. The only thing he didn’t know for certain was how Harry knew.

He came through the door in time to dodge a quick Disarming Charm from another Auror, and see that Harry was flinging his arm out, his eyes stern and righteous, as rings of rock uncurled from the wall of Lovegood’s house and around seven of the nine Aurors in sight.

“Remember to keep them alive!” Draco called. He knew how important assets like undermining morale could be in a battle. “We don’t have any proof that they harmed Lovegood, yet.”

Harry said nothing, but simply wore his look of fierce concentration, his attention locked on the Aurors he was holding. He didn’t seem to notice the two who turned and ran up the stairs behind him, bent over as if they had stomachaches.

Draco did.

He hurdled the Aurors who were grabbing at the stone rings, and cast a spell that shot ahead of the two fleeing men, creating a flexible net of light in front of them. They recoiled and turned towards him, their eyes so deadly that Draco wanted to laugh. They didn’t seem to think that anyone was worth their spells if they weren’t dealing with Harry.

“The failed Auror comes to claim a debt of his comrades?” sneered the one on the right. Draco gave him a brief glance, but didn’t recognize him. He had sandy hair and a thin moustache, and that kind of person had never been worth Draco’s time or attention.

“I think he just wants to stop us attacking Lovegood,” said the one on the left. “Since it’s obvious he’s an ally of Potter’s.” He turned and shot a jet of purple light up the stairs that would seal doors from the outside.

Draco’s net blocked it and turned it back towards them. Even though the spell would have no effect on humans it touched that Draco knew of, the men still cursed and ducked frantically. Draco had to smile as he watched them.

“What the hell, Malfoy. You know about that—”

“Hush!” said the one on the left, with a glance so meaningful that Draco could begin to guess how much was being left out.

“I don’t know much about the spell, if that’s what you mean,” Draco said, taking a step onto the bottom stair, “or why you’re here, other than that you’re allied with de Berenzan.” The way they flushed said they were the kind who didn’t appreciate their own words being turned back on them. _Good_. “But I do know that I’m going to stop you.”

“Spoken like Potter.”

“Well, Gerald, you know that spending time around the people who are stupid by _choice_ makes you more likely to catch the affliction.”

Draco didn’t allow himself to react violently. Because they had said something like that about Harry was no reason to react, really. He had better reasons.

Like the way they cast Blasting Curses and Cutting Curses at him, and the way Draco had to spin to the side and into a duel in response.

But he would remember their words.

Draco twisted once, leaped up another stair, and carried the battle to the one called Gerald before he could say anything else. He stumbled back, his eyes wide, and Draco scoffed a little as he kicked the man in the stomach, caught him behind the shoulders with one arm, and whirled, tossing him down the stairs. Then he cast a Stunner that laid him out, while ducking so that the identical spell from the other Auror flew over his head.

 _Honestly. Formal duelists._ Learning the etiquette that would impress people and earn you points and money in front of judges was all well and good, but if no one had ever taught them to fight dirty, Draco was sorry for them.

Not sorry enough not to cast a spell that made a rattling noise like a snake’s hiss from behind the other Auror, though. He spun around, panicked and already fumbling with his wand, and Draco hit him with a Stunner from behind.

 _Pathetic._ Draco looked at them both and shook his head. He was displeased with the standard of training in the Auror Department, even if these were people loyal to de Berenzan and therefore less intelligent by default.

He bound them with a few casual flicks of his wand and looked back once. Harry had all the other Aurors in the strangling hold of the stone by now, and he was doing all right. He would probably just send Draco to look after Lovegood if he went back to help, anyway.

So Draco took his spell away and mounted the stairs to the bedroom that Lovegood had, it turned out, barricaded herself in. Draco blinked when he saw the door. It was glowing at all four corners with light. He’d never seen a spell like it before, not even on the magical artifacts that he’d sometimes read about. And who would make a magical artifact into a _door_?

Only when he came closer did he realize that the glows actually came from enchanted, embedded stones. At least one was a ruby.

Draco shut his dangling jaw and smiled a little. He knew better than to knock on the door. He clapped several times to get Lovegood’s attention, and then said, “Are you all right, Luna?” He could call her that for the sake of the friendship she had shown Harry, if nothing else.

“Draco?” At least she had no hesitation about first names. “You’re here? But what about the Nargles?”

“I didn’t run into any,” Draco said, rolling his eyes a little. Playing along was the price of doing business with Lovegood. “It’s okay. The Aurors are either Stunned or held captive by now. You can come out.”

There was a long hesitation, and then the door opened. The minute it did, or even slightly before, the jewels died. Draco stared in fascination. He would _have_ to get Harry to teach him how he did that. Enchanting a pebble to read the loyalty of someone was remarkable enough. Creating a whole new kind of defensive spell touched on magic that Draco understood, or thought he had.

Lovegood’s face had a small scratch on it when she peered out into the corridor, but she was clutching a faceted ruby that spat and growled with whips of fire, as well as her wand. Draco had to nod his approval. _Always use all the weapons you have at your disposal. There’s no point in holding back until the situation becomes desperate. It’s your job to prevent the situation from reaching that point._

Draco didn’t approve of all the advice they had received in Auror training, but that was by far the best.

“Is Harry all right?” Lovegood was looking around with a sharp, focused expression that made Draco wonder if he was seeing the real Lovegood for the first time, instead of the burgeoning mystic infatuated with the unreal.

“Yes. He would have shouted if he wasn’t.” _If only because he knows what I would do to him if I find out he didn’t._

“He said he broke his arm.”

“It’s been stabilized. It should hold until we can get him to a Healer.”

“There’s a Healer who’s going to attend his speech. I’ll contact her and have her come early. Harry’s going to come early.” Lovegood started to walk down the corridor, and Draco followed her, trying to ignore the odd way it bent. “The Dreaming Spheres told me that would be best.”

Draco restrained his eyeroll. Well, the holiday from blather had been nice while it lasted.

“You don’t like me very much, do you?”

Draco cursed himself as he watched Lovegood pause with one hand on the banister. _That_ one was a lesson from his father, one he never should have forgotten. _Never assume that anyone is unobservant unless they have proven themselves so across years. And then, remember that doubt may keep you alive._

“I think that you’re strange,” Draco said, deciding he might as well be blunt. “But I appreciate what you did for us by publishing that article in the _Quibbler_. That means a lot more to me than the strange things you say.”

Lovegood squinted at him as if trying to decide whether that was good enough. Then she suddenly gave a happy smile. “You’re in love with Harry.”

It was probably too late to keep that one under covers. Draco met her gaze and nodded.

“And you’re making him happy.”

“Well. I try.”

“Then _you’re_ the other one the Dreaming Spheres told me about. The one who would keep him happy. His soulmate.”

“I’m _not_ ,” said Draco, more vehemently than he would have liked. But he knew Harry would have reacted like this, and he wanted to make sure Lovegood wouldn’t confuse anyone tomorrow when Harry would stand up and announce that he was markless. “I have a soul-mark that belongs to someone else.”

“It obviously doesn’t belong to someone else, or you would be with—her?” Lovegood paused and listened as though someone was whispering into her ear, then nodded. “Her. It belongs to Harry.”

“But he doesn’t _have_ one.”

Lovegood gave him a look as though he was very slow. “It belongs to him because you’re his. And his would belong to you if it existed. Because he’s yours. That’s the way it works, for people who belong to each other and make each other happy.”

Draco shook his head. “What about you and your husband? I know you have matching marks.”

Lovegood’s husband Scamander was apparently in another country right now, but Lovegood looked down the corridor as if she saw him coming towards her. “It was amazing when we found out. A true coincidence. But I suppose it happens sometimes. People who make each other happy can have matching marks. I know Hermione and Ron are like that, too. And I hope Ginny and her person will be, too, if only because she wants it so much. She’s like Harry used to be. She’s remained single this long because she hopes to find the one who matches her in skin as well as soul.”

Draco couldn’t find it in himself to feel sorry for Ginny Weasley, so he changed the subject. “You think soul-marks are—what? Useless? Chancy?”

“Sometimes relevant, sometimes not.”

"I wish you could have told Harry that," Draco grumbled as they came around the corner and found Harry surveying his handiwork as if he wanted to make sure all the Aurors were still breathing. "He needed to hear it a long time ago."

"Now he has someone else who tells him," said Lovegood, and patted his arm. "So I don't have to."

Draco opened his mouth, but Lovegood was already slipping over to Harry. "The stone you gave me worked perfectly," she said, stroking the ruby that she held. She smiled at him. "The whirling of the Humdingers had already warned me, but it was nice of you to do it, too."

Draco silently rejoiced in the way Harry looked past Lovegood to find him, and relaxed at the sight of him unwounded, before he turned back to answer her question. Draco leaned on the wall and watched Harry thoughtfully.

He wasn't panting, the way he had been when they surged into the house. He kept his attention on Lovegood, but also partially on the captured Aurors, and he seemed as much amused as fond with the way he smiled at her. He did touch the cut on her face, and Lovegood shook her head impatiently. Apparently she didn't care that it couldn't be healed with earth magic, or maybe she intended to heal it later.

It made something in Draco slowly uncoil to watch Harry interacting with his friends. Granger and Weasley no longer got on his nerves. Lovegood did, but not as much as she might have if Harry had been happy and well-adjusted and in possession of his soulmate.

_Then again, I wouldn't be here if that was true._

“Draco? Are you all right?”

And Harry had decided to ask him as well as looking at him. Draco couldn’t deny that that felt good. He inclined his head and moved towards Harry, studying him closely. No, no wounds. Not that Draco would have thought much of his earth magic anymore if any of the captive Aurors had managed to wound him.

“Nothing on me. Do we know why they sent so many Aurors?”

“They know they need that many to silence the power of the press. It doesn’t mean that they’ll succeed.”

Draco blinked and looked again at Lovegood. She seemed to have come back to the world of sanity for one of her brief visits. Her eyes were brilliant with outrage, and she was turning the ruby Harry had given her over and over in her hands.

“That just means that we’ll have to show them they can’t.” She looked at Harry. “I know Doge wanted to wait, but what about having him there to cover your speech? He could write a quick article now and that more detailed one that he wants to use later.”

Harry grinned. “I can’t promise that he’ll want to write anything, but I know he’ll want to be there. Why don’t you talk to him, Luna? You would know what newspaper terms to use better than I would.”

Lovegood bobbed her head. Her gaze was distant, but still clear, and Draco realized with a start that he felt sorry for Minister de Berenzan for a whole new reason. Apparently, Lovegood’s wrath wasn’t something you would want to get in front of.

“I’ll do that.” She smiled at Harry. “And I’m glad the Humdingers you put in the stone to warn you brought you together with Draco. I was just telling him that.”

Harry gave Draco a slow smile that made Draco flush, even though he was sure Lovegood didn’t catch the more subtle meaning, since she immediately started talking about whether she should owl her husband and get him to come back to Britain. But Harry kept one eye on Draco as he spoke with her, and Draco had to relax.

They had something. Something more important and lasting, finally, than the soulmate nonsense Harry had spent so much time craving.

And Draco knew that because Harry wasn’t talking about soulmates now, or looking wistfully at Lovegood when she talked about her soulmated husband.

_I may never have to twist his ear again._


	28. A Formal Punishment

 

“This is going to hurt, Mr. Potter, so you’ll want to be prepared.”

Harry only closed his eyes and shrugged with his good shoulder, as if to say he had endured pain like this before and could take it. Draco rolled his eyes and moved up beside him, in case Harry needed him. They were in a small room in the Hog’s Head. Lovegood was still setting up the wizardspace tent where Harry would speak in a few minutes.

Draco found himself peculiarly comforted that the walls were made of stone. It wasn’t something he would have noted as more than an incidental detail before, but at least now he knew Harry could move fast to get out of the building.

Harry’s free hand reached out to squeeze his arm, and Draco dipped his head in brief acknowledgment, even though he knew Harry hadn’t read his thoughts. To him, it meant that Harry would take _both_ of them out of danger, no matter how he had to do it.

“Now,” said the Healer, whose hands had been flitting over Harry’s arm. She was a tall woman with grey hair and stern hazel eyes that reminded Draco, except for the color, of his mother’s. She nodded a little and then reached out and braced her feet. Harry closed his eyes and sucked in his breath.

The Healer gave a mighty yank on the broken arm at the same time as she cast a wordless spell. Harry cried out wordlessly, too, his head bowing and his shoulders hunching with such pain that Draco found himself stroking them helplessly. Harry shot him an exhausted smile and closed his eyes.

“That should do it.”

Draco gave a quick glance at Harry’s—perhaps formerly—broken arm. To a casual glance, it didn’t look different. “What did you do?” he asked, turning to stare at the woman, who gave him a faint smile.

“I merely made sure that he had a sturdy enough bone for me to create a new bridge in the middle of it,” the Healer said. “A bridge made of calcium and magic, which is going to hold the shattered pieces of the bone in suspension for a time, and then encourage them to grow together quickly. It should be back to normal in a day’s time.”

Draco wanted to ask why it would take so long, when he knew that Healers could often cure a broken bone with the tap of a wand, but then he remembered the length of time since Harry had shattered the bone, and how bad the magical backlash had been. He closed his mouth and gave a faint nod.

The Healer departed, with a parting comment about how much she was looking forward to Harry’s speech that Harry didn’t really pay attention to. He was sunk into himself, his breathing as soft as if he was meditating.

“Harry?”

“I’m all right. Just making sure that I could feel the magic in my arm the way I could before it broke.” Harry smiled a little as he opened his eyes. “Another thing Hail taught me. The earth magic is only as strong as the body that contains it. If I become weaker for some reason, then I can’t channel as much.”

Draco raised his eyebrows. “That’s why you were sweating trying to contain the Aurors the other evening at Luna’s house.”

“Yes. And thank you for calling her Luna.”

“Well, since she started using my first name I felt I had to use hers.”

Harry raised his eyebrows so high Draco felt he was missing something, but he didn’t understand until Harry said quietly, “I meant, instead of Loony. Or any of the other degrading nicknames that people have given her over the years.”

Draco shrugged. He hadn’t known how much it would mean to Harry, since it wasn’t like he had mentioned it recently. “I still stand by what I said. She’s giving me some respect, and some informality at the same time. And she’s done a lot for us. It would feel…ungrateful to call her a stupid nickname after that.”

Harry scanned him as if he was trying to find secrets hidden underneath Draco’s expression like gems hidden in a mine. Then he smiled and laid his hand over Draco’s, squeezing lightly.

“Thank you anyway,” he repeated, and then walked out of the Hog’s Head towards the edge of the village. Draco shook his head and followed. Sometimes he knew exactly what Harry was thinking and feeling, without him having to explain it.

And then again, there were times that he didn’t.

*

“Thank you for coming to Harry Potter’s speech about his lack of a soul-mark, everyone.”

Draco winced a little—Lovegood’s introductions were as painfully honest and awkward as always—and let his gaze wander around the tent for a moment. It was a huge one, pale blue and glittering transparently above them where the sunlight came in. The crowd in front of them was a huge one, too, shifting back and forth and muttering rebelliously to each other about who knew what. Draco could recognize Aurors he knew in that crowd, although not in their robes, and some of the Harryheads, and people who had been in the crowd Doge had gathered to listen to Harry’s first “speech.”

He kept a sharp eye on the Aurors he knew, making sure they weren’t standing too close together or moving in strategic patterns that could signal an attack. Yes, perhaps he was paranoid, but he honestly didn’t trust anyone who worked that closely with de Berenzan and hadn’t broken away on their own yet. Lovegood could if she wanted, Harry would welcome them with open arms, but _someone_ had to be the sensible one of the group.

Harry waited near the back of the tent, out of sight for the moment behind Lovegood, who was floating around on an enchanted, flat disk of wood. Draco glanced at him again to find his head bowed and his lips moving.

_He’ll do better than he gives himself credit for._

Draco watched Harry open his eyes and turn his head as if he had heard him. He smiled a little. Lack of soul-mark or not, it seemed he and Harry connected at times at a fundamental level. More than Draco could imagine ever connecting with anyone else.

 _More than I did with_ her.

But his failure of a soulmate was not someone he needed to think about right now, watching Harry rub his hands together and then turn to face the front of the room as Lovegood's speech built up to a climax.

"...And since someone has to stand up to the Ministry and its killing of markless babies, and standing up to someone has always been his role, I give you Harry Potter!"

Harry ran forwards and leaped up onto the wooden platform beside Lovegood. Draco thought he might be the only one who noticed the slight surge of magic that bolstered Harry as he did that, a push that made the stone more flexible beneath his feet. He smiled and leaned back against the wall, rejoicing in a secret he possessed that no one else did.

"Thank you for coming today," Harry said, and the _Sonorus_ Lovegood must have cast on him overpowered the cheers and yells and swoons from the crowd. "I know you came to hear me tell you why we have to oppose the Ministry and take de Berenzan down--"

Not even Harry Potter could have made his voice heard in the mess of the next minute, Draco judged. The screaming, the yelling, the stomping of feet and clapping of hands and waving of badges from the Harryheads, simply made it impossible. Harry waited for a second, his head bowed and his hand poised like he was going to command the stones.

He went on the instant they had to pause to take a breath. "But I need to talk about something else more important, too. Something I never knew about growing up."

"What?" someone called so eagerly that Draco would have thought they were a plant, except he knew Harry had no need of that to make people pant after his answers.

Harry smiled, a gentle, sorrowful smile. "Soul-marks don't mean perfect romances," he said. "I always thought they did. I grew up knowing people who were soulmates and had perfect marriages. I always heard about my parents having that kind of marriage, too, and I knew they had the same mark. But I think now that I was simply lucky in the stories I heard."

The crowd went silent completely, craning up their heads. Draco, meanwhile, muffled his snort. _Lucky? Or selectively blind?_

"I could have looked around at any time and seen there were plenty of people who didn't have perfect romances," Harry said steadily, echoing Draco's thoughts so closely that he jumped. "Or people whose soulmates had died, or who never met them, or who spent all their time pining for someone whose mark they didn't share and never would. People in other Houses and other experiences.

"I never once thought I wouldn't find my soulmate with the same mark as me and the same soul as me and in Gryffindor. I never thought to look beyond that. If my scar was hiding my mark, then all I had to do was defeat Voldemort and I would know who it was." Harry grinned a little. "That was one of my main motivations for fighting him, you know. Defeat him and I would finally know who I was _supposed_ to be in love with."

Draco cocked his head. He would have made fun of this a short time ago, but now it only sounded desperate. Sad.

And not in a way that he needed to mock.

The crowd seemed to agree with him. They were certainly hanging on Harry's every word.

"And then I realized that I was losing my magic, and that I would either have to admit I didn't have a soul-mark, or spend the rest of my life pretending I did." Harry blew out a slow breath. "I didn't like those choices. I spent as long as I could studying soul-marks and trying to find some way out of the trap.

"I didn't find one. Instead, I found that the Ministry had been murdering all the people like me they could get their hands on--another reason that I didn't even think about what being without a mark or a soulmate would mean.

"That enraged me. But it also made me feel like I was wrong and they were right. People had called me a Dark Lord before. What if I had those some tendencies? What if sometimes babies without marks _did_ get spared and grow up to become horrible people?"

Draco hid his growl. They hadn't discussed _this_ portion of the speech at all! Trust Harry to go and mess up a carefully-laid plan!

But from the enraptured expressions of the Harryheads when Draco leaned out to see what they were doing, it looked like it was working. And even the Aurors and Healers and other people Draco could recognize in the audience were at least frowning instead of screaming.

"I spent a long time thinking I was soulless," said Harry quietly, shaking his fringe out of his eyes. "Almost certain of it, in fact. Now that I think about it, I'm not sure _why_ I was so certain. No one ever told me that someone missing a soul-mark would be missing a soul, just like no one ever told me that soulmates would always have perfect romances. I assumed that. And people told me about soulmates without the word 'always.'"

 _That's because the he only people he knew were ignorant Gryffindors,_ Draco thought with a snort. Harry had said something about the Sorting Hat wanting to put him in Slytherin; Draco wished it had, if only because that might have cured Harry of some of his romance.

"I had to change my mind. Think about things. Reevaluate my priorities." Harry grimaced. "And even if that meant running away at first, well, it brought Draco into my life, and he was the one who taught me to rethink even more."

Harry turned to Draco, spreading out a hand, and at least they'd rehearsed this part and Draco knew what he was supposed to do. He sprang up lightly beside Harry on the platform and nodded to the watching crowd. A few Harryheads scowled, probably just now remembering he was dating Harry. Draco ignored them.

"I was the one able to tell Harry that it didn't make sense to assume he was soulless," said Draco, with a bland smile. "And the one able to get him to think about the consequences of opposing the Ministry."

"Do you think he should, then?" asked a man named Jasper Wentworth whom Draco called to mind after a few minutes of struggle. He had a drooping black mustache and had once worked for the Ministry as a secretary, before he quit in disgust about some scandal that Draco had never bothered to pay attention to.

“Of course he should,” Draco said, and even managed to keep his voice bland and his eyebrows low instead of rising up to touch his hairline. Where _did_ the man think he was? “For the reason that he’s been talking about. The Ministry has been killing markless babies for who knows how many years—”

“Come _off_ it, Malfoy. I know as well as you do that you don’t care about any of that.” Wentworth folded his arms and snorted. “I just mean that de Berenzan’s a good Minister, better than a lot we’ve had, and if we’re going to oppose him, we should have a better reason than—”

Draco didn’t mean to, but he laughed. Wentworth stopped speaking and stared at him. Draco sneered with one corner of his mouth. Then he said, “If you knew what I know about de Berenzan, then you couldn’t say that with a straight face.”

“Tell us, then!” That was a former Auror on the crowd, standing on his toes as if he thought that would help him divine Draco’s plan better. “If you know so much and you’re so politically wise!”

“de Berenzan is weak and frightened,” Draco said flatly. “He sent Aurors after me when he had no idea that I might have begun to oppose him, simply because I frightened him. He set _me_ to chase the Boy-Who-Lived when he knew perfectly well that Harry didn’t have a soul-mark. He chose me on purpose. He hoped our old rivalry would make me refuse to question what I saw and heard, and I would just chase Harry down and bring him in without uncovering the truth.

“And two days ago, he tried to silence Miss Lovegood from speaking the truth in her articles.” He nodded to Lovegood, who gave a faint smile out over the heads of the crowd. “He would have nothing to fear if we were lying, would he?”

“He wouldn’t send Aurors to—”

“He did,” Lovegood said, and her voice was soft and earnest. “I can put the memories in a Pensieve if you want, so you can see them.”

Wentworth shut up, looking uncomfortable. Draco leaned forwards, and he knew he probably looked half-demented, but he found it hard to regret it. “Do you want to know any more, Wentworth?”

“That doesn’t sound like the de Berenzan I know.”

“It is,” said Harry, and his voice had the right touch of softness and sympathy. Draco would let him handle taking care of all these people who thought they knew better than Draco did. “He chased me when all I wanted was to leave the wizarding world behind. He was too afraid of what I might tell people about not having a soul-mark and exposing the Ministry’s treachery. And he kept being afraid. He sent Draco after me for the same reasons Draco’s already told you.”

“Why choose me of all Aurors to work Harry’s case?” Draco added. “He told me that he just wanted to know Harry was all right. But if Harry heard I was hunting him, he would be more distrustful and less likely to reveal himself to me. Who _does_ that when they really want the Boy-Who-Lived back?”

“You can stop using the stupid title anytime.”

Draco assumed a saintly expression. No one else but Lovegood was close enough to hear Harry’s muttered aside, and Draco didn’t have to pay attention to it if he didn’t want to. “We can show you memories to convince you. Shall we do that?”

“We believe _Harry_!” shouted one of the Harryheads who had enormous dangling earrings, a picture of Harry’s face in the center of each shiny circle.

“Does that mean that you don’t believe _me_?” Draco asked mildly, and the witch stammered and backed down.

“We have all the Pensieves we need,” Lovegood intervened. “So we can show the truth to anyone who wants to see it.”

More than one of the former Aurors came forwards to look. Draco disregarded the fear that they might see something no one in their little resistance could explain. He knew that wasn’t true, so why did he have to worry about it?

Harry touched his arm, and Draco nodded. He was borrowing trouble from the future, the way Harry had when he wondered whether people would like his speech.

They had, and more than one person was staggering away from the Pensieves with a devastated but accepting expression. And Granger and Weasley and the Harryheads were traveling through the crowd of people who weren’t already true supporters, ready to explain anything that they wanted to hear.

And passing out copies of that little work written to convince Minister Bagnold to continue with the killings.

Draco smiled a little, and leaned back. He was going to bloody well enjoy their first taste of triumph.


	29. The de Berenzan Approach

Draco opened his eyes slowly. He knew there was something wrong, something that didn't have to do with the warmth and weight of Harry curled against his back. Something that went so much further than that it made his skin prickle to contemplate.

And oddly enough, the sensation seemed to be coming from his cupboard where his Auror robes hung.

Draco moved his hand slowly over to his wand. He never slept with it far away, although also not with it under his pillow (a recipe for breaking it, he thought). Harry continued breathing softly behind him as he sat up.

 _Periculum recludo,_ Draco thought as hard as he could, wordlessly waving his wand through the passes of the Danger-Revealing Charm.

For a moment, nothing happened, and Draco was almost ready to put the sensation of danger down to his training and instincts. But then the door of the cupboard trembled, and slid open a little to reveal one particular robe that shone with a soft, menacing golden light.

 _Right,_ Draco thought. Possibly someone had managed to place a Tracking Charm on him the last time he wore it, although Draco wasn't sure why he would have picked up on that now. He slipped out of bed and moved softly towards the cupboard.

When he touched the robe, the whole left side split along the seam. Hissing, Draco ducked out of the way, certain he was about to be hit by something someone had implanted in the robe and charmed to attack him.

Instead, Draco found himself staring at a polished piece of metal, so large and sharp-edged that there was no way Draco could have missed it if someone had slipped it into his robe, or Transfigured the cloth into it. Within the metal, shining with the soft-edged clarity of a crystal ball's vision, sat de Berenzan, his hands folded.

"So glad to see you at last, Auror Malfoy. I wondered when you would find the charm that transformed part of the robe into a communications mirror."

Draco said nothing, while his mind worked through the implications. He'd of course heard of communications mirrors, although they weren't common. But one that only one party knew about could also be used for spying.

He'd never heard of a spell that could transform part of an object into a communications mirror _some_ of the time, and his mind spun trying to comprehend the theory. But he didn't show his confusion or lack of poise. He simply inclined his head and murmured, "A pleasure to see you again now that you're not sending Aurors to kill me."

de Berenzan sighed and contemplated what might have been the ceiling for a moment, although the mirror so foreshortened the perspective that Draco couldn't be completely sure what he was tilting his head to look at. "I regret the necessity. But it was a _dire_ necessity. And most of the Aurors had orders only to capture and not kill, you know."

Draco raised an effortless eyebrow.

"Believe what you like. You will anyway. Now." de Berenzan unclasped his hands and gestured elegantly. "How many Galleons do you want to deliver Harry Potter to me?"

"There's no bribe great enough.”

"Not money then. I should have remembered you have vaults of it. What do you want? Name your price. The Head Auror's position wouldn't be too far away."

"No _price_ great enough, I should have said. Maybe that would have made you listen to and believe me." Draco gave a faint smile in de Berenzan's direction. "And I know that your Aurors would have killed me, and Lovegood, and anyone else they thought they needed to kill, once you decided to suppress this information. I don't negotiate with people who tried to murder me."

"Can't you see how dangerous Potter is for our world? How the news he insists on promoting is going to destabilize the Ministry?"

"I understand that you're going to lose power, and someone else will be elected, maybe a Minister who won't panic at the thought that people can be born without a soul-mark. And that's enough revenge for me."

"Your job could be in danger, too, Auror Malfoy."

"And here I thought it wouldn't be. Here I thought it couldn't possibly be, more than it already is." Draco shook his head in sad astonishment.

"The public will lose confidence in the Ministry. Do you understand what happened the _last_ time that occurred? Members of the Wizengamot unseated, the Minister forced to resign, the laws in chaos since people believed they'd been passed to give pure-bloods an unfair advantage, 'reformers' running around loose in all the Departments, people who had worked their lives for the good of our world sent into poorly-paid retirement..."

"You seem to think you can appeal to me as if I'm still part of the Ministry. I'm not, anymore. I understood that I would have to give that up the moment I decided to stand beside Harry."

de Berenzan bowed his head with an expression of despair. It might even have affected Draco, but he'd seen the Minister use it too often. He remained still and silent, his eyes fixed on the mirror.

"There's a good reason that we decided children without soul-marks couldn't be allowed to live," de Berenzan whispered without looking up. "We knew they would never have happy lives, that they would be restless and dissatisfied. Everyone needs to unite with the person who has their soul-mark. It grounds them and makes them happier."

A laugh ripped out of Draco's throat before he could stop it. de Berenzan jumped and looked at him hopefully. "Then you understand? You think that we need to keep an eye on them even if they don't turn into Dark Lords?"

"I think there's a huge difference between keeping an eye on them and killing them at birth," Draco said, biting down his amusement. "But it makes more sense to me that you would want to kill them because you believe in soulmates than because you believe in Dark Lords. Restless, dissatisfied people would get the urge to change the world, wouldn't they? Including the Ministry. So it makes total sense to me that you would want them dead."

He paused, then added, "The only thing I'm surprised about is that you used the justification of soul-marks leading people to their perfect match and making them happy. You romantic, you."

The Minister was silent long enough that Draco thought he might not respond. Then he said, in a strangely subdued voice, “You should know better than anyone why I did that.”

“I should know better than anyone?” Draco repeated, shaking his head. de Berenzan might have spied on a lot of his conversations with Harry, but that would mean he knew how little Draco thought of the traditional notion of soulmates. “What do you mean by that?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” And now de Berenzan was smirking, reaching one hand out as if he was going to scrub the mirror clean with his palm. “I look forward to seeing you again, Auror Malfoy. Watch the papers.”

He made the scrubbing motion, and vanished. Draco sat back on his heels and stared at the mirror blankly.

He didn’t know what he was supposed to be doing, or feeling. It seemed as though the conversation had emptied him out, and even speculation about the spell de Berenzan had used and when he had used it couldn’t occupy his racing mind for long.

“Draco?”

Harry’s voice was sleepy, but warm and welcome. Draco went back to bed and lay down beside Harry, cradling him with an arm around his shoulders when Harry made a questioning noise. He lay there until Harry whispered, “I heard part of that. What did he do?”

“Turned one of my robes into a communication mirror. Or a spy mirror. I don’t know how long he’s been doing it.” Draco absently stroked Harry’s hair. He was still playing with de Berenzan’s words and trying to understand what they could mean. Most of the time, he could come up with an interpretation. This time, he had no idea. Some threat to Harry, certainly, but that didn’t explain why de Berenzan had thought Draco would _understand_ him. “I suppose we can’t worry that much about what he heard.”

“You haven’t worn that robe much lately,” Harry pointed out. “He would have heard what we said here in the bedroom, and not much else.”

Draco lay still, and then chuckled. He hadn’t thought of that. He had assumed without thinking about it that of course de Berenzan could move his spell between robes, and spy on Draco whenever he liked, out of any pair of them. But why should he think that? The spell had to have its limitations.

And even if he _could_ , Draco still hadn’t been wearing his Auror robes much lately.

“You’re a lifesaver, Harry,” he murmured.

“I am _not_. Too much of the time, I’m not.”

Draco rolled his eyes a little. He’d meant it metaphorically, and forgotten the history Harry had with that term. “Fine, you’re not,” he said soothingly.

“And don’t think I don’t know when you’re _soothing_ me,” Harry snapped, rolling to the side and away from the grip of Draco’s arm.

“Fine, I’m soothing you,” Draco said, and decided the best thing he could try was honesty, because that always utterly confused Harry. He lounged on the pillow and watched as Harry tightened his shoulders in response. “Do you want me to keep doing it?”

Harry’s fingers tapped on the bed, making the sheets ripple. Draco looked at them politely, and then looked back at Harry instead. Harry kept his head turned away, frowning so fiercely that it looked as if it hurt his lips.

“I don’t know what I want,” Harry finally said, in a sullen voice.

“Not to be called a savior. I know. Or a hero.” Draco reached out and gathered Harry close again, and ignored the way that Harry’s elbows dug weakly into his side as if he was getting ready to fight his way out. Draco thought that if Harry was going to fight his way out, he would bloody well know. “But that’s only negative. It doesn’t tell me the positive.”

“I don’t feel very positive right now.”

“What do you want?”

“I don’t _know_.”

Draco rested his head next to Harry’s, and felt their cheeks brush, and the way Harry was exhaling, so rapidly that it made his hair sway. “I think you should talk to me about it, and be as honest as you can. That way, I’ll know.”

“How can I do that when I don’t even know where to start with saying it?” Harry muttered, but in a slightly weak voice now.

Draco held a chuckle back with an effort. It was more than a little absurd, the way they were acting, honestly. “I can hold you like this while you decide what you want. Would that work?”

Harry sighed out as though he was being asked to make the hardest decision in the world, and then let his head droop down on Draco’s shoulder. “Fine.”

He remained silent long enough that Draco thought he might have gone to sleep, and he was prepared to do the same himself. But then Harry cleared his throat, and Draco sat back up in expectation.

“The reason I don’t want to be called a savior or a hero,” Harry said carefully, “is that I used to think that meant I could never fail. And that made certain things worse. Like the way I felt about not having a soulmate.”

“But—your not having a soulmate didn’t mean you failed to save anyone,” Draco said, not bothering to hide his bewilderment.

“But I failed at having a perfect romance. The way a hero is supposed to. And I failed Ginny. She wanted _so badly_ to be my soulmate, and in the end I had to tell her that we didn’t have matching marks.”

Draco sneered. “Asking me to care about Ginny Weasley’s happiness is futile.”

“ _Draco_.”

“I know what _I_ want. You in my arms, and to stop boring on and on about soulmates.”

“I was only telling you what I felt then. Not now.”

Somewhat appeased, Draco sighed and continued. “If she really wanted you, then she could have done the same thing I am. Cleaved to you no matter whose mark she carried. What does it _matter_ if you don’t have the same mark? She could have said it didn’t matter. She would have if she really loved you.”

“Don’t say bad things about her. Just—stop.” Draco was quiet, and Harry stroked his arm and continued on in a soft voice. “Besides, I didn’t really give her a chance to do it. I just made my excuses and my apologies and left.”

“She didn’t come after you?”

“How could she, when I just cut her off like that?”

“I would have followed you,” Draco said. “I would have refused to accept it, the way I did when you tried to be all stupid and noble about taking me away from the supposed love of my life. But Weasley just drooped and gave in, didn’t she? When I saw her, she was still drooping.”

“She really wanted me to be her soulmate. She still—I suppose she always believed that soulmates were perfect halves of each other’s soul. And most of her brothers _did_ find theirs, and so did her parents. She didn’t have anyone to tell her that wasn’t true.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “She’s smart enough to have figured it out on her own—and that’s the only compliment I’ll ever pay her, so don’t look for others. But she let you go. So you didn’t fail anyone. You didn’t fail her or yourself or your heroic image.” He paused and interjected a bit of teasing into his voice. “You still have plenty of people who think you’re a hero, don’t you? The Harryheads, for example.”

Harry had to smile a little. Draco felt the motion of his lips against his collarbone. “That’s true enough.” He sighed and rolled back against Draco. “Sorry for reacting like that. But it’s hard enough to hear from the Harryheads about how heroic I supposedly am. When you said something like that, I—reacted.”

“Yes, forgiven,” Draco said, and rubbed his back. “We’ve given each other our wonderful insights now, just like true soulmates supposedly do all the time. Why don’t we go to sleep now and astonish each other some more in the morning?”

Harry answered without words, with a swift, stunning crush of a kiss that made Draco gasp and collapse back into the pillows. And Harry hovered above him, grinning.

“Let _me_ astonish you right now,” he said, and did it with the speed that he used his hands on Draco’s body to make him writhe and gasp.

*

Draco woke to silence. And he knew it was more profound silence than Harry simply being in the bathroom or at breakfast.

He forced himself to wash and use grooming charms and get dressed with the same exact speed he always used. If Harry regretted something about last night and had left, Draco would handle this with dignity. He would send him a Patronus or call his friends’ houses by Floo until he found him.

When he came out into the dining room, though, Harry was sitting at the table and staring at a paper. Draco paused, Minister de Berenzan’s words echoing in his head. _Watch the papers._

“Harry?” he asked quietly.

Harry turned and extended the paper to him with a question in his eyes. It was the _Prophet_ , which didn’t surprise Draco. He couldn’t imagine that any sum of money the Minister could offer Lovegood was enough to make her publish things for him in the _Quibbler_.

“Did he turn Doge?” he asked, and glanced at the front story.

But no, it wasn’t about Harry really being a Dark Lord after all, or the supposed chaos that Harry could cause in the Ministry as someone markless. It was a set of photographs, two of them, Draco on one side with his head tossed back and his eyes gleaming bright and arrogant—one taken after a successful arrest, Draco discerned—and on the other side, her lip trembling, Rose Sheldon. Draco’s soul-mark was just visible peeking out from under his robes. And Sheldon’s showed when she turned to the camera and made part of her sleeve vanish.

They were the same.

Draco ignored the headline and the article itself, both of which were stupid attempts to stir up some sort of scandal about Draco having left his “destined” soulmate. de Berenzan was a fool if he thought that tactic would work with Harry’s friends or the Harryheads. Draco wouldn’t place high odds on it working with the general public, either.

It was the effect this might have on Harry that Draco dreaded.

“So,” he said quietly. “Now you know.”

And he sat down, staring at Harry, and awaited what would happen next.


	30. Knowledge Confirmed

"I fail to see why you're so upset about it."

Draco went with the instinct that served him the best in that moment, turning his shoulder towards Harry and wandering over to sit down at the breakfast table. A few sweeps of his wand Summoned bread and marmalade. He would have toasted it ordinarily, but this time, he simply spread the marmalade directly on and took a large bite.

"Because she's your _soulmate,_ " Harry said, hissing the word as if he'd never fancied having one for himself. "And because the papers are presenting me as the destroyer of this happy relationship."

Draco cocked his head and looked critically at him. "And that upsets you why? It's not as if you care about the opinions of people who would believe this nonsense."

Harry snorted loudly enough to make Draco flinch--he had to think about where those flying nose-droplets were going to end up--and slammed himself back from the table. "The same people whose opinions we're _manipulating_ via the newspapers! Who knows how many we've lost? They already have a prejudice in favor of the Ministry! If they go back and believe that de Berenzan hasn't done anything so vile after all, because I'm an evil person, just like he said--"

"Calm the hell down," Draco said, without raising his own voice, which forced Harry to stop raising his. "The problem de Berenzan has is that he never advertised your lack of a soul-mark in the first place. Maybe he could have wooed some people to his side by pretending that your supposed Dark Lord nature was a problem, but did he do that? Of course not. Stop worrying about it."

"What do you think people are going to think, then?"

"That it's too little, too late." Draco took a huge bite of his bread, more to make a point than because he wanted it. "And among the people who know Rose Sheldon, there will be laughter that magic could ever have considered us fit mates of each other's souls."

"Who is she?"

 _Better._ Harry at least sounded willing to listen this time. "A woman who works in the Ministry." Draco leaned back to look up at him. "She's passed information to me several times. In return, I brew her the potion she's addicted to."

Harry jumped as though Draco had cast the Lightning Curse at him. "You gave up on her because she was addicted to a potion?"

"Not so much that. I could have weathered that." Draco didn't say that he knew other potions that would force Rose into a sickness so deep whenever she took her preferred one that she'd never do it again. "But because she was weak enough to become addicted."

"You were one of the people providing it for her, though!"

"And if she'd been strong, she would have resisted."

Harry shook his head, eyes fastened on Draco as if he'd never seen him before. "You're attracted to me because of my strength?"

"It's one of the reasons." Draco leaned forwards, making sure to keep his hands in sight and his eyes utterly steady. Harry was _going_ to understand him. "Not the only one, now. But at first? Yes. I was curious what kind of weakness could make you run and abandon your friends and the world that adored you. Then I began to wonder what kind of strengths you'd found to replace wand magic. Now I know how much else you've dealt with in your life, and it only makes sense that I'm in love with you."

Harry jerked with his mouth wide open like he was a snake poised to lunge with his fangs, and then he lowered his head. “You can’t mean that,” he whispered.

Pleased because the words had helped distract Harry—even though they were true—Draco raised his hands. “I’m serious,” he said calmly. “And I never even considered being with my soulmate once I learned what I did about her. It’s true that I never believed in the romantic nonsense like you did, but I was going against the pressure of social expectations even so. My parents are soulmates, you know.”

Harry looked down at the table, and then stiffened his spine as if he was pouring hot metal into it to harden. “What you did to her was still wrong.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “You can think of things that would have made your soulmate unacceptable to you, I’m sure. If they’d been a Death Eater and not repented? If they went around casually using the word ‘Mudblood’ in daily conversation? If they had tried to kill you in the past and expressed no remorse for it?”

Harry shook his head. To Draco, he looked as if he were struggling free of a choking fog. Draco would have admired that more if he wasn’t trying to create the choking fog himself. “But those are wrong in a different way.”

“Why?”

“I mean—some of those used to apply to you.”

“True. And if I was still that way, you wouldn’t have accepted me. Just as if you were addicted to a potion, and that turned out to be the source of your weakness in leaving the wizarding world behind, I wouldn’t have pursued you.”

“Draco, that’s _awful_.”

“Shall I apologize for having standards?”

Harry looked down at his hands again. Draco took the opportunity to get some actual bacon and porridge that he drizzled honey on. Explaining reality to someone who still had Gryffindor standards of morality was hungry work.

“I suppose,” Harry finally said, his words heavy, “what makes it different for me is that you sold her that potion. It would be one thing if you just didn’t want to be with her. Everyone needs to make that decision for themselves. But you _sold_ it to her.” He looked up at Draco.

Draco swallowed a mouthful that was more honey than solid food, and put his spoon down. “For information I needed. And she had a lot of options, you know. She could have gone to the Ministry. That would certainly have got me in trouble along with her.”

Harry’s eyes widened a little. “You didn’t take precautions against that?”

“There were things I could have done if they tried to arrest me. Altered my Pensieve memories. Claimed that I didn’t brew the potion strong enough to make it illegal, and shown records of the ingredients I obtained to back that up. Even fallen back on the romance myth and said that I couldn’t bear not to give my soulmate what she desired.”

“But none of that is true.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “How many lies did you tell, Harry? By omission if nothing else? _Please_ don’t tell me that this has changed your mind about me.” That came out as more of a plea than he liked, and he winced and shut his mouth, watching as Harry struggled.

“I suppose,” Harry finally said, softly, his words struggling along, “what—really gets me is that you were disgusted she succumbed to temptation. So you tempted her again and again. Why?” He shivered and met Draco’s eyes with determination.

“My incurable romanticism.”

“ _Draco_.”

“I mean it. In some ways.” The ways that Draco didn’t mean it weren’t ways that he thought he could explain, anyway. “I wanted to give her more chances to prove herself. And when she never did, then I could feel less bad about my own decision to go against convention.”

“You’re hardly _conventional_.”

“But there was a time after the war when I thought about seeming that way. If I had been able to settle down with my soulmate, then it would have been another disguise that I could pull over me, another way to make people stop looking at me strangely.” Draco warmed his hands on the sides of the mug of tea that Harry had slid over to him. That made him feel smug, because sharing tea meant Harry was halfway to forgiving him. “I think you know something about that.”

“I wanted to find my soulmate because I thought I would have a perfect love with—her, I thought at the time.”

“And being exactly like everyone else didn’t have its charms?” Draco smiled a little as he watched the flush on Harry’s face deepen. “You didn’t think once that you wanted to have the perfect love that your parents and your friends had, that you would be _normal_ if you had it—”

“That word is charged for me in ways you can’t understand,” Harry said flatly, but he was looking down at his hands, and Draco found it easiest to wait and see what happened. Harry finally looked up, the flush still fading out of his cheeks. “Of course I wanted that kind of thing. I told you that myself.”

Draco nodded. “Then you can understand the attraction. I thought it was possible Rose would change, for a while. I kept offering her the potion, and I thought she might refuse it. Sometimes I didn’t see her for months. That’s enough time to shake an addiction to the Lucid Dreaming Potion if one is determined enough.”

“The _Lucid Dreaming Potion?”_ Harry was sitting back and looking all appalled again, Draco saw, swallowing a sigh. “Malfoy, that potion is foul!”

“Funny, the scent has always been extremely pleasant—”

“I mean that the way it changes and corrupts people is—” Harry struggled to find an adjective other than “foul,” Draco thought, sipping his tea again as he watched him. In some ways, Harry was _still_ extremely conventional. “I know all about that potion. I watched a few Auror trainees succumb to it.”

Draco nodded. “I’m not denying that it’s powerful and addictive. I knew as much when I brewed it.”

Harry lifted his hands slowly to his face. “Why are you telling me this?” he whispered between his fingers.

“Because I want to make a clean breast of everything. I didn’t before, and de Berenzan managed to use Sheldon against us. If you know the worst about me, then you can’t be taken by surprise like this again.”

For a few moments, there was no sound but Harry breathing slowly, in a controlled way. Draco sipped his tea, and waited. Then Harry dropped his hands and looked at him. “I suppose you would say that I haven’t exactly obeyed the laws, either.”

Draco shrugged a little. “That doesn’t bother me. You acted to protect your life and make choices you can live with, and then some of the things you did were things I _urged_ you to do. I don’t mind that you took the choices the Ministry left you with.”

Harry swallowed, and the tips of his ears turned pink. “It would be hypocritical of me to blame you for breaking the law, too—”

“Thank you—”

“That’s not what I’m doing.”

Draco settled himself in the chair. He supposed he ought to have known this was going too smoothly. “What do you blame me for, then?”

“For constantly tempting someone who was struggling. For making things worse for her for no other reason than that you despised her.”

Harry met his gaze head-on when Draco leaned forwards. Draco didn’t intend to let that discourage him. “You have no real idea what you’re talking about, do you?” he asked in tones of soft contempt. “You did the same thing when you ran away like that. You were testing your friends. And at least I despise Sheldon. You don’t despise _them_.”

“What?” Harry recoiled, shaking his head. “I—I never intended to tempt them, or—make them hurt. I really intended to leave and not come back!”

“Then you would have burned or covered up the evidence more smoothly,” Draco countered. “You had Auror training, even if you never completed it. You know how to do that. Instead, you do _this_.”

“I did _not_ want them to follow me!”

“Then it wasn’t a test, it was a punishment? You should have been able to trust your friends with this news, Potter. You should have known they would stand by you!”

“Why the hell are you calling me Potter?” Harry shoved himself back from the table.

“Because you called me Malfoy, before!”

“This is ridiculous.” Harry slammed his hand down into the middle of the table and stood there breathing like a hippogriff, his shoulders hunched. “I can’t believe that you’re acting as if _I’m_ the one at fault when you tempted and taunted someone and then sat there feeling smug that they didn’t resist the temptation!”

“She should have,” said Draco. “She really bloody should have.”

“Even though you would have lost your source of information? Even though you were probably _relieved_ that you didn’t have to acknowledge she was your soulmate?”

“Yes,” Draco said. “For the same reason everyone should be strong. For the same reason you shouldn’t curl up and let the Ministry take your life and freedom away. It’s the way _things are_.” He hesitated, and then said what he was thinking, in the spirit of not keeping things from Harry anymore. “If I came back from the brink, with everything against me, then she could do the same.”

“Not everyone has your inner will, Draco.” Harry said it tiredly, pacing slowly back and forth across the kitchen and looking at his chair as if it had burst into flames. “You can’t hold other people to the same standard.”

“But I can hold the people I’m going to spend the rest of my life with to it.” Draco turned so he was fully facing Harry. “Even if that means they’re going to disappoint me sometimes. And I don’t want to be bound by the romantic nonsense of a soulmate when I don’t like who my soulmate is.”

Harry laughed. “I can’t believe I was strong enough to satisfy you.”

Draco relaxed. That sounded as if they would recover from the argument and go on, which he hadn’t been sure would happen at first. “You wouldn’t have been if you kept backing down and whining about what the Ministry would do to you and how you just wanted everyone to go away. But it’s fine now that you’ve proven you’re capable of more than that.”

“You were the one who nudged me into being strong, though. Don’t you resent that?”

“I took a chance on you. The chance turned out to be worth taking.” Draco brushed his lips with marmalade, more because he wanted to act normal than because he felt that way. “I should be the one asking you if you resent _me_ , because I kicked you into taking your life back.”

Harry collapsed hard into his chair. “I don’t know why I got so upset about you tempting Sheldon,” he muttered. “I already knew that you weren’t exactly a nice person.”

“And to make it clear, I wouldn’t have cared that much about the Ministry killing markless children if they didn’t also threaten you. And if it wasn’t something that I could use to bring de Berenzan down.”

Harry choked a little and looked up at Draco, shaking his head in what looked like resignation. “Always clear and straightforward, aren’t you, Draco?”

“I want you to know that I’m not lying. Not even if you want me to, or to make myself look good.” Draco nodded at the newspaper. “This is the only thing I really kept from you, and it almost destroyed your trust in me. I’m going to make sure that de Berenzan doesn’t have any other weapons to use against us.”

Harry traced his finger around the base of his teacup. Then he said, “I should—should have waited you to explain it, I suppose. And I can’t claim the title of nicest person in the world myself.”

“If anyone _should_ be able to claim it, then you should. Not that I have any idea what you would want with such a thing.”

Harry gave him half a smile, his eyes lingering on Draco’s face. “If I was pure and morally righteous, then I would have stood up for the lives of markless children before it started affecting just me. I would have _thought_ of more than just me. And told my friends the truth. And realized on my own that just because I don’t have a soulmate—that doesn’t mean I need to give up on life.”

Draco smiled at him. “And you would reject me for my treatment of Sheldon if you were pure and morally righteous, of course. That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it?”

“It kind of is.” Harry rolled his head forwards and winced a little, as if hearing the bones in his neck pop wasn’t pleasant. Draco didn’t imagine it would be. “I suppose we should be grateful that we found each other. We’re both strong and determined and unpleasant in the same ways.”

Draco took a single stride around the table. He’d hardly realized he’d stood up. Harry’s startled eyes blinked at him, and Draco seized his face and pulled him out of his chair, kissing him hard enough that Harry gasped. But Draco didn’t care about that, or the way he’d slammed Harry’s arse into the table. He nearly bent him over it backwards before Harry caught his hand and held him back, shaking his head. “Draco? What is this about?”

“I want to prove to you that I won’t ever abandon you for Sheldon.”

Harry snorted and didn’t release his hold on Draco’s wrist, much to Draco’s displeasure. “I never really thought you would.”

“Admit it. You had a moment’s fear.”

“Half a moment.”

Draco smiled. “Very well. But we can both tell the truth, and we’ll stand beside each other no matter what de Berenzan tries.”

Harry’s eyes widened and softened and deepened. “Of course,” he said, and then lifted his face for a kiss.

Draco did better than that, hauling him towards the bedroom. Harry moved alongside him, never looking away from his eyes.

_He trusts me now in ways that he didn’t before. He knows my secrets._

_Thank you, de Berenzan._


	31. Spreading the News

Draco spun Harry around the minute they got inside the bedroom door, and caged him with his arms against the wall. Harry stood there, panting and staring at him. Draco wondered when he would realize that he could actually move all he wanted. Draco wasn’t touching his shoulders or pinning his wrists, was barely touching him at all.

Draco held Harry with his eyes and his charisma alone, and he had to admit, he was bloody _good_ at it.

“Do you want to do more than simply rub each other off now?” Draco breathed.

Harry’s head jerked a little. “That was good, and you know it!”

“I know. But I’m asking you if you’re ready for more now, or if you want to do that again.”

Harry glared at Draco and then turned his head away. He was trying to come up with some sort of response, Draco thought, but from the way his ears flushed and his breathing grew heavy, he was too distracted by what Draco wanted to do to defend what they _had_ done.

Draco took up Harry’s wrist. Harry’s eyes turned to him. Draco held his gaze as he lifted Harry’s hand to his mouth and licked the middle of his palm.

Then Harry was the one tackling Draco, smothering him with lips and hungry teeth, spinning him so that Draco crashed into the side of the bed and nearly slid down it to the floor because the blankets were so smooth. Draco raised his arms, with a shudder, and cradled Harry close. But he did nudge his hips pointedly up and then actually point at the bed when Harry seemed to want to lie on the floor kissing him forever.

Harry detached himself entirely and scrambled up. Draco frowned. That wasn’t what he’d meant. But then Harry flopped down in the middle of the bed, raised and separated his legs, and let them fall, open as wide as he could put them, with a very final thump.

Draco felt as if he was about to start drooling. He had to blink rapidly, several times, to make sure he didn’t.

“Is this enough answer for you about what I _want_?” Harry asked, and even if he couldn’t speak the words, his clenching hands and his brilliantly red face spoke for him.

Draco stood up and bent over him for a gentle kiss, because taking a risk like this meant Harry had earned a reward. Then he stood back and began to strip. He had never thought a kiss was the only reward Harry had earned.

Harry just stared, and stared, as more and more of Draco’s skin came out into the open. He flinched at one point, and, when he looked down, Draco thought it was because of the long, thin scars the _Sectumsempra_ curse had printed him with. But then he saw Harry staring at the bloody soul-mark that supposedly connected him to Rose Sheldon.

Draco raised his eyebrows and did nothing to hide it. That would annihilate the whole _point_ of things he was trying to make with Harry. He waited, his eyes fixed on Harry, who stared back at him and chewed on his lip.

Then Harry swallowed and met Draco's eyes, and said, with a faint smile, "Are we going to do this or not?"

Draco practically bounded onto the bed and started pulling on Harry's clothes and kissing him at the same time, so grateful was he that Harry hadn't let the mood be broken by his blasted soul-mark. Harry cradled his face and kept kissing him, and Draco grabbed his arm and held it high so he could kiss the underside. Harry made the most astonishing sound, half-keening and half-startled, and flung his head back so that Draco could lean in to suck on his throat.

It took far longer than Draco thought it should have to remove Harry's clothes, but when he was done, Harry lay revealed and shining before Draco, and Draco took his time licking his hands and dipping his tongue into his navel and rejoicing in the fact there was no soul-mark anywhere he could see.

"Are you going to fuck me or what?"

"So _impatient_ ," Draco said softly, and reached out to trail his fingers slowly down Harry's arm, where he'd kissed him before. Harry squirmed, and Draco reached for his wand.

He'd decided to use magic since they were both too impatient for fingers, but honestly, by the time he'd made the slow passes with his wand and watched Harry's eyes widening as the spells affected his arse, it was almost like having his fingers inside Harry. He still hissed when he cast the spell on his cock, the lube soaking him and warming almost instantly, but there was that moment of cold and shock when he caught Harry's eye and saw the greedy wonder there.

"I want you," Harry said, softly and determinedly, as if he thought Draco might have changed his mind because of the feel of the lube on his cock.

"I want you," Draco echoed back, and his voice was breathier and gaspier than he had imagined. He lifted his cock slowly, cupping and stroking, and saw the way Harry fastened his eyes on it, and the way his legs shivered open and shut and open again.

"Yes."

Draco leaned forwards, kissing Harry at the same moment as he slid slowly inside him. Harry bucked and tightened with pain, and Draco kept him there a moment, stroking his flanks, letting Harry adjust. Then he continued to press unhurriedly forwards, listening to the whines that rose up to his ears.

Harry soon started flexing and pushing with his hips, as if he wanted to get more of Draco inside him but didn't know how. The slippery satin sheets didn't help much. Draco chuckled and moved, oh so slowly--he had to be slow or he would slip out--to kneel on the bed and shove a little further inside.

"Bloody _hell,_ that's good," Harry said, and his head went back, wild hair tossed around his face and wild eyes open.

"I know," Draco said, smugly. He kept thinking, as he pushed forwards again and again, and Harry picked up the pace of the thrusts and began to move with him, all the time staring at his face in wonder, that this was the first time Harry would have experienced this. Maybe he'd done it with another man, but not Draco.

_This is mine. This is mine as much as he is. What we're doing is what we're doing, and no one can take that away from us._

It wasn't long before Harry had started to hiss through his teeth when Draco's cock moved forwards inside him. Draco watched him, but didn't stop moving. He was still sure that Harry would say something if he was _really_ in pain, and until then Draco would do what they both wanted.

Harry didn't ask Draco to stop. He didn't ask anything. His long moment wore on and on, and he painted, and then he abruptly arched his back and reached down as far as he could, grabbing Draco's sides, digging in. Draco winced as he felt tiny drops of blood start from the cuts, and Harry's eyes grew fixed past his head.

"Are you all right?" Draco succumbed to weakness in the moment before he could think better of it. Harry should be the one to tell him what was wrong.

But then Harry let loose, in the same moment, a little whine and floods of come. Draco found himself sitting back so it didn't slime all of his shirt. He blinked and stared down, watching Harry shake from the mere sensation of having Draco stroke along his insides, watching him come, climax, orgasm, whatever you wanted to call it, because Draco was there and _doing this to him._

Draco felt the shudders starting in his loins, too, little more than a minute after Harry had subsided. He shook and buried his face against Harry's hair, his fingers curving into claws that might carve blood from Harry's temples in turn, and Merlin, it had never felt like this before. So dizzying and brightening and emptying and draining.

Harry was actually the first one to stir, before Draco had come back from his journey into the depths of--whatever that was. He sighed so heavily that Draco started, and took his hand back so he could comb gentle fingers through Draco's hair in turn. Draco blinked at him, close, close, close with his face resting against Harry's cheek.

"I never knew," Harry said simply.

Draco could come up with smug and self-interested things to say, but in the end, he chose, "Me, neither," and laid his cheek against Harry's with the tiniest of sighs.

They didn't fall asleep yet, and as it turned out, Harry had a lot more to say. But they didn't say it then, silent and drifting, with warmth and pleasure and something more, burning, tucked between them.

*

“Are you sure that you want to say something _that_ aggressive? It’ll change all our game plans.”

Doge’s fingers were practically fluttering over his parchment and ink. Draco controlled his sneer with an effort. Doge himself _wanted_ to run the story Harry was telling him about. Only drool would make it clearer.

But he was afraid—of de Berenzan, as so many people were, of the consequences. Draco controlled his sneer and stood behind Harry’s chair with his arms folded, though. He had promised that he would let Harry handle this particular challenge.

“I’m sure.” Harry sat up and radiated confidence, even though he also had his arms folded. “The public deserves to know.”

 _Magical words to someone like Doge,_ Draco thought, as he watched the man’s face smooth out and his hand stop its nervous tapping. He nodded. “They do indeed, Mr. Potter. I suppose you wouldn’t be willing to talk in detail about your own search for a soulmate?”

Tension corded Draco’s muscles. He was ready and willing to let Harry start the story circulating of exactly _why_ de Berenzan had run the article about Sheldon, they’d discussed that, but Harry’s own personal details weren’t part of the bargain.

Harry, though, reached back and squeezed Draco’s hand once, seeming to know without consultation what he felt. “Only a small part of it. I think we need to keep the focus on what our Minister and Ministry are doing. And, well, I never found a soulmate. Can you make a satisfying story out of a quest with no ending?”

 _Well done again,_ Draco thought as Doge’s expression became thoughtful. He made a few incomprehensible notes to himself and hummed.

“No, I suppose not,” he said at last. “But you are willing to say that de Berenzan ran that story _only_ to try to undermine Draco and his support for you?”

“Well, and to make me look bad, of course,” said Harry, with a slight shrug. “Like I was breaking up a pair of happy and destined lovers. You have to put it in there, or it seems like a big risk for de Berenzan to take, without a lot of payoff.”

 _He’s always taking risks like that. Pissing me off, for example._ But once again, Draco could keep his mouth shut against the words that wanted to rush out.

“All right, all right,” Doge was grumbling as he wrote. He _acted_ like it was a huge imposition, but Draco knew exactly what those trembling hands and vicious smile meant. Doge was beside himself with the chance to cause trouble. “If you think enough people will believe this, I have no trouble writing it.”

“Good,” Harry said, mildly enough that even Draco had to take a second glance. But there was no doubt about the promised trouble gleaming in his eyes if Doge didn’t do as he’d said, and Doge glanced up, saw, and swallowed.

He had some bravado left in him, though. “You don’t think the Minister might come after you himself for implying this?”

Harry reached back with another hand, clasped Draco’s, and let Draco draw him to his feet. “ _Think?_ We’re counting on that.”

*

Granger hadn’t stopped giving Draco curious glances since he and Harry had walked into Lovegood’s house that morning.

Draco was conclusively ignoring her, as far as he could when they needed to plan a strategy together. He knew what she was slavering to ask. Why he’d refused his soulmate, how could he be with Harry when he had someone marked as the supposed other half of his soul out there, or any variation of those.

Even for someone who acknowledged that they didn’t know what soul-marks meant and had to think about it in more detail, she had those unthinking Gryffindor prejudices in favor of romance.

Luckily, Harry announcing that they would step up the campaign against de Berenzan distracted her thoroughly.

“Are you sure that’s going to be enough?” she fretted, pacing back and forth in front of the huge, twisted block of round black stone that Lovegood used as her kitchen table. Draco wondered if the house had ever had a normal table, but then, Lovegood would probably just have set fire to it if it had. “I mean, _yes,_ of course the Minister is one of those people who knew the secrets about markless children, but the Wizengamot had to know, too. Can we convince people to stop the slaughter if we only have a new Minister?”

Harry rolled one eye sideways to Draco, silently asking him if he wanted to take this. Draco nodded, and stood up to confront Granger.

Harry lounged back on the couch. It thrilled Draco to know that he would be utterly unconcerned about Draco “handling” one of his friends.

“I don’t see that we have any other choice but to believe the Minister mostly responsible,” Draco began. “It’s certainly de Berenzan who’s been most frantic to stop us, and the propaganda we found was addressed to Minister Bagnold. Not the Wizengamot. I don’t think any members of the Wizengamot have even spoken up, have they?” He glanced at Lovegood, who was better at keeping track of things like that.

“They have not,” Lovegood said, and then looked up with a slightly pensive frown on her face. “Unless they were whispering their secrets to sunflowers and the sunflowers were forgetting to deliver them. Some of them do that, you know.”

“Some people?” Draco asked, unable to resist.

“And some flowers.”

Harry gave Draco a mild glare. He _did_ still object to him teasing Lovegood. Draco sighed and turned back to his main target. “We have no evidence that the Wizengamot was actually involved. No, Granger, reasonable suppositions aren’t evidence,” he added, as Granger opened her mouth even wider. “We have to have some kind, and we don’t.”

“But then what happens if we do manage to remove Minister de Berenzan?”

“We have a new Minister.”

Granger’s arms looked like they were folded tightly enough to give her constipation—which would explain something about the expression on her face, Draco mused. “You know what I _mean_ , Malfoy. The Wizengamot aren’t going to sit tamely back and let us do this. What happens once they start opposing us? We’ll be vulnerable no matter how strong we are.”

“I think you’ll find the Wizengamot hates one thing more than someone telling them what to do,” said Draco, nodding.

“What’s that?” Granger stopped pacing long enough to look at them.

“Someone lying to them so that they have no _idea_ what to do,” said Draco, and watched the way her face became thoughtful. “For whatever reason, the Ministry workers who wrote that record for Bagnold didn’t talk about the Wizengamot. None of the names I’ve been able to track down come from the current Wizengamot.”

“But the older ones—”

“They might be related to the current ones. That doesn’t mean all of these Wizengamot members will think the same thing as the older ones did.” _Besides,_ Draco wanted to add, _death is the usual way that one leaves the Wizengamot, so we probably don’t have to worry about the older members._

Granger went back to pacing, but it was a little less frenzied now. Draco leaned on the table and cocked his head at Harry.

“This puts you in the most danger.”

“I’ve been in danger since the day I was born, what with the prophecy and no mark. I’ll be fine.”

Draco nodded, a little less convinced than he wanted to be. But Harry was the one who had calmed Weasley already, although Draco had paid no attention to the conversation, and he was the one who moved forwards and lowered his voice to speak with Granger now. Draco supposed he would have to accept that Harry was the best judge of his own safety.

Looking restlessly around the kitchen, he caught Lovegood’s eye. She nodded and cut another article out of an old _Daily Prophet._ Draco knew she was planning on announcing this story through the _Quibbler_ after Doge published his article, but he had no idea why she wanted to collect _Prophet_ editions.

“It will be all right,” Lovegood said.

“Did the sunflowers tell you that?”

“No. The Wrackspurts. They can be useful, sometimes, although they don’t like being that way.” Lovegood brought her wand down sharply on the last piece of paper that attached that article to the rest of the _Prophet_ , and nodded. “They feel like being useful right now.”

Draco sighed and closed his eyes. He hadn’t slept well last night, after he and Harry had planned this out, trying to foresee every way the plan could go wrong. As long as no one needed him right now, he thought he could afford to snatch some rest.


	32. Struggling Owls

“Aren’t you glad Luna taught us the incantation of that owl ward, now?”

Draco blinked and nodded. He was staring at the mass of struggling wings and clawing feet and beaks less than a meter from his window. There was a huge, fine net of magic stretched there, and it would only let through owls from a few people—Granger, Weasley, Lovegood, and Doge, most prominently. It was catching the huge amount of other birds that tried to reach them.

“I sure am,” Harry continued, as though he needed the confirmation of his own voice, even though Draco hadn’t contradicted him.

Draco put an arm around Harry’s shoulder, never removing his gaze from the owls. They screeched now and then, but Draco’s house-elves were taking out food and water on a regular basis. The ones who had given up and dropped their letters to the earth were let go from the net, and had already flown away. The stubborn birds who insisted on delivering the letters themselves or waiting for a response were the only ones still there.

“Oh, look,” Harry muttered, as Draco Summoned the newest letter and handed it to him. “I’m a destroyer of relationships.”

“We knew not everyone would believe our counterstrike. Especially since some of them believe that people _without_ soul-marks can find love anywhere, but people with the mark should want their soulmate only.”

Harry only nodded absently, and brightened as he saw another letter. “This woman says she sent a Howler to the Minister, because _he_ used soul-marks as a political weapon.”

Draco laughed under his breath and went back to the table to eat some of his omelet. “That’s more the spirit, right?”

The _Daily Prophet_ was spread in a place of honor across the table for once, instead of crumpled up the way it had been when they ran the story on Draco and Sheldon being soulmates. Doge’s story was on the front page, illustrated with a photograph of Draco and Harry both leaning against a table and each other, and the headline said it all.

LOVE: DESTINY OR CHOICE?

Draco was fond of the photograph almost more than the story, which accused de Berenzan of solely using Sheldon against Draco—which, indeed, had happened. Truth was almost unexciting when it was told deliberately.

Keen-eyed people would see the truth in the photograph, too. They would see the way that Draco leaned towards Harry, his head cocked as Harry murmured into his ear. They would see the hand that the pictured Draco sometimes took off the table and traced casually around the outline of Harry’s hip. They would see, maybe, the minute flutter of Harry’s eyelids as they almost closed at that gesture. (Draco was _looking_ for that, and it had still taken him endless minutes to spot it).

They would see that love was much more than a matter of soul-marks, and they would, some of them, calm down from yelling for his or Harry’s blood. Draco had no hopes it would be the majority, but their story had severely confused people, or there would be more Howlers than ordinary owls caught in the net outside.

“I really do love that picture.”

“Me, too,” Draco said, and reached out to trace his hand down Harry’s hip in the same gesture as Harry came back to the table. He was rewarded with a shiver and a heavy-eyed look of invitation that Draco wished he could take up right now.

As it was, he had to gesture at the formal invitation that lay beneath the _Prophet_. “How soon do you think we should meet with the Wizengamot?”

“I thought we were going to wait for an invitation from de Berenzan first, so that we could be armed with what he says?”

“I don’t think he’s going to invite us—”

Then Draco broke off as the letter he had casually Summoned from the earth outside turned out to have the official Minister’s seal on the back. “Well, well.” He cracked it open, being careful not to tear the envelope in his haste.

“He wasn’t going to invite us?”

Draco waved Harry quiet as he read the letter. He loved Harry, but there were times he just had to be quiet and let the grown-ups talk.

_Auror Malfoy,_

_I think some misunderstandings have brought matters to this pass between us. I would appreciate it if you brought your partner with you to my office so we can discuss the question of soothing the public before the inferno burns both of us._

_Sincerely,_  
_Minister Marshall de Berenzan._

Harry leaned to read the letter over his shoulder, and made a small surprised noise. “Is it worth going?”

“Of course not. The moment you entered the Ministry, de Berenzan would have you arrested for possession of Dark Arts books, and there goes our most powerful asset.”

“He couldn’t put me in any cell that would hold me. At least, not if it was made of metal or stone.”

Draco leaned back so he was looking up into Harry’s eyes. “Come to that, there are some wooden cells he might use. And it might not matter if he immediately deported you to Azkaban and set Dementors to watch you.”

“…Oh.”

Draco nodded. “For that matter, even though I doubt the Aurors armed with sympathetic magic were _officially_ hunting me, he would probably come up with some excuse to arrest me the minute I walked into his office, too. No, we won’t let him have the pleasure. We’ll meet with the Wizengamot at their afternoon session today, and let them have the task of confronting de Berenzan and putting out this supposed inferno he’s so worried about.”

“If they’re going to arrest me the minute I set foot in the Ministry, though…”

“Didn’t I tell you?” Draco flung de Berenzan’s invitation carelessly on the table and held up the one from the Wizengamot, smirking. “They’re not meeting in the Ministry today. In the old Council building, as it’s called. It’s _much_ more impressive and they’re probably hoping to intimidate the piss out of us. But the Aurors and the Minister hold no jurisdiction there.”

*

From the way the stone of the floor rippled softly at Harry’s feet before it calmed, Draco imagined that he was considering opening an escape route. Had this been his first time visiting the Council building, and had his earth magic been much more advanced, Draco could have seen doing the same thing.

But he had first seen this building as a terrified eighteen-year-old, and, well. No matter what some people thought of the way he had emerged from the war, Draco had done it braver all around.

He and Harry paced towards a set of wooden doors as wide and tall as a Hungarian Horntail, made of pale birch and carved with figures of wizards and witches doing battle with Muggles, sitting in judgment over magical creatures, and facing kneeling centaurs in forests. (Given that no one Draco knew had ever seen a kneeling centaur, he thought that was the most fanciful picture). The hallway they walked down was all done in marble, with smaller carvings in the corners, except for the roof. Vast wooden rafters crossed above their heads there—oak, if Draco was any judge—sober and dark and somewhat counteracting the flaring of the dozens and dozens of torches along the way.

It was all so obviously meant to impress that Draco was absurdly fond of it. It reminded him of the older corners of Malfoy Manor in lots of ways.

He laid his hand on Harry’s arm and firmly caught his eye as those doors of birch wood began to open, in silence—of course—long before they reached them. Harry looked wildly in several different directions as if he had forgotten Draco was there before he focused on the hand.

“They want to see you shaking,” Draco told him quietly. “But you walked into the Forbidden Forest and stood up to the Dark Lord many times, and you’ve lived without a soulmate and the knowledge that any people who knew about your lack of a mark would want to kill you. You can do this.”

Harry breathed for a moment as if exhaling a cloud of cold into the air, but nodded. His step was firmer and more confident as he followed Draco into the huge Council room.

It arched overhead so high that the light of the torches and the grand fireplace on the far wall failed to reach the ceiling. Draco, who had been here when “Light” wizards were complaining about the Wizengamot’s lack of toughness on Dark wizards right after the war, knew that was only an effect. The ceiling was there, not even an imitation of the night sky the way it was in the Hogwarts Great Hall. Most of the time, the Wizengamot simply didn’t want to spend the money on the wood to reach it.

Here, rather than a gallery of seats as in the Ministry courtrooms, the Wizengamot sat on floating chairs, raised on balls of glittering blue and yellow light high above the floor. Each one wore the highly formal silver robes that were almost never dragged out anymore, and the wizards had their beards draped across their chests, while the witches had long hair flowing down their shoulders. Draco could hear Harry swallow.

He took the lead as they moved towards the chairs, and half-bowed to the center of all the floating seats. “Greetings, members of the Wizengamot,” he said. “We came promptly.”

“Tell us why you have made all this trouble.” That was the oldest wizard, Thomas Zelubar, whose voice sounded like wind coming down a tunnel. That was another effect of the charms on the room, though; it made all the members’ voices sound like that, while “intruders” would sound normal. Draco ignored it as he replied.

“We haven’t made trouble. We have brought to light a very old truth, and an unpalatable one, which someone will always call trouble when they’re inconvenienced by it.”

“We did not know about the children without soul-marks being killed.”

Draco would have answered, but that particular witch was staring hard at Harry, and he knew she meant the question for him. Draco turned to see what Harry would say.

Harry’s face was pale, but that could easily be mistaken for a reflection of light off white marble. Draco knew he was the only one who would really notice; he was the only one here who saw Harry on a regular basis. “Members of the Wizengamot, I didn’t think you did.”

“Yet you accused most of the Ministry—”

“There were some people at the Ministry who knew, because someone wrote a book to persuade Minister Bagnold when she wanted to stop it. But I don’t know their names. I’m better off assuming that the man who wanted me to keep quiet is the one who knew.”

Harry’s voice sounded firmer now. Draco relaxed a little as Zelubar spoke again. “The man who wanted to keep you quiet?”

“Minister de Berenzan.”

“This undignified war in the papers must _stop_.” Yvonne Selwyn, Draco knew, because she was the only witch in the room who wore the huge rings with onyx stones that clicked against the chair as she leaned forwards. “Swear to us that you will no longer write articles about each other.”

“I would be glad to promise that if the Minister made the same promise, and also that he won’t persecute me, or any of my friends for helping me.”

Selwyn subsided into sullen mutters. She knew as well as Draco did that the Wizengamot didn’t have a leash on de Berenzan unless they made an actual legal decision, and they were dreaming if they thought they could intimidate Draco and Harry.

Draco stood lightly, with a hand on Harry’s shoulder, watching as the Wizengamot members snapped and snarled among themselves. They knew perfectly well they had the power to stop this, Draco thought. It would be just be an inconvenience to them to exercise it.

Zelubar finally sat up and said, “You think the Minister would kill Harry Potter _now_? After all the publicity and when everyone would know the reasons why?”

Harry gave Draco a look, as if he didn’t know which of them was supposed to answer that. Draco did, though, and he replied calmly. “If he could make it look like an accident, or like Harry had disappeared and wouldn’t come back, why not? That was almost what Harry did once before, the disappearance. If de Berenzan had just left it at that, we wouldn’t be standing here right now. But he got paranoid that Harry would come back and tell everyone the truth, so he put me on the case.”

“His great mistake,” Harry muttered behind him.

Draco smiled.

“I don’t trust you!” That was Selwyn, whom Draco knew was speaking more out of ancient grudges against his family than any sense. “I don’t trust either of you.”

“But you’re not going to arrest us and throw us in Azkaban or get rid of us, either.” Draco spread his arms. “We await your decision.”

Mutters and glances and rings tapping chairs and so many scowls that Draco would have found the atmosphere uncomfortable if he wasn’t convinced of his own righteousness. Harry shifted as if _he_ found it uncomfortable. Draco patted his shoulder and kept watching their audience.

Zelubar finally said, “The Ministry has made killing of those born without soul-marks practically legal.”

It was the opening gambit of concession, and Draco immediately countered it. “Not legal, or they wouldn’t have had to hide it. They locked up Harry’s birth records the instant they knew what was in them, and they chose to _deny_ the birth of children without soul-marks rather than admit they were killing them.”

“And killing helpless babies can hardly be classified as legal,” said Gloria Marjoriebanks, with a nod of her head. “Whether they would grow into Dark Lords or not.”

“Mr. Potter _did_ have the potential to cause immense harm to the wizarding world.” Zelubar again.

“Then was the way de Berenzan handled this this the right way to go about preventing that harm?” Draco raised his eyebrows with delicate disdain. “Terrifying Harry, making him think he had to run, and hounding him even after that? Instead of approaching him and enlisting him to talk about markless children? He would have, gladly.”

“It seems to me that you’re doing a lot of answering for Mr. Potter, and Mr. Potter not a lot of speaking for himself,” said Zelubar, and turned his floating chair on light to face Harry. “What do you think, Mr. Potter?”

Harry proved that he had paid attention to politics after all, and answered promptly, “That Minister de Berenzan is incompetent.”

“He’s handled other political crises well!” Selwyn.

“But he allowed fear to rule him in this one. And fear that makes no sense, really, when you think about it.” Harry shook his head. “He thought my fame and popularity were a threat to the Ministry. Then why antagonize me? I would have melted away and he wouldn’t have had to worry about me again. Instead, he went after me with everything he had. That doesn’t argue that he’s very _intelligent_ about how to handle threats.”

Draco saw glances exchanged, and hid his smile. That particular way of phrasing things would put the matter in a different light for the Wizengamot. After all, de Berenzan had to deal with powerful people—like the Wizengamot, or foreign leaders—every day. If he struck back out of fear and perhaps envy every time he met someone with a strength he didn’t have…

“He wasn’t the only Minister that participated in killing markless children,” said Selwyn.

“I never intended to blame him solely.” And Harry’s voice had gone back to sounding like a trumpet, and honestly, Draco didn’t know why he hadn’t tried to make a career in politics. _Unless he needs someone to inspire him to fight for himself. He probably would have acted even sooner if he hadn’t been markless and he found out about_ other _children being murdered._

“I only want him to stop. I want to understand why markless children are born and what can be done to help them. I want to increase goodwill between all members of our society. Our numbers are small enough, after two wars. Why kill more of us because of a superstition that can’t be proven? Let’s work together so we can know how to bring up markless children and not leave so many families grieving, and not let survivals like mine become a matter of chance and luck.”

After that, he had them on his side. Draco was the one who faded into the background while the Wizengamot discussed things among themselves, and agreed to summon de Berenzan before them, and questioned Harry some more on exactly what kind of elemental magic he’d learned and what it was like living without a soul-mark. Draco wouldn’t be content to do that _all_ the time, but for right now, he wanted to stand back and watch.

And plan.

_He’ll be like that in defense of his own life, eventually, and when fighting for me. I’ll see to it._


	33. Meeting With the Minister

“You can do this.”

“I feel like I should be the one telling you that. You have a lot more personal reasons to fear de Berenzan than I ever had.”

Draco rolled his eyes, and made sure Harry, who was fussing obsessively with his robe collar in the mirror, could see the reflection of him doing it. “Says the one whom de Berenzan wanted arrested and murdered and silenced.”

“Maybe he didn’t go as far as murder with you, but he wouldn’t have been upset if one of those Aurors had killed you.”

“They didn’t,” Draco said, and then shook his head and abandoned the effort to show who cared more about who. He put his hand on Harry’s shoulder, and Harry paused and tilted his head. “What we should be doing is thinking about what we’ll say to de Berenzan.”

Harry blinked. “Oh, I know that. My main fear is that he’ll say something unforgivable or attack you before I can say it.”

Draco paused. “We didn’t discuss your speech to him the way we did your speech before the Wizengamot.”

“It’s hardly going to be a speech. More in the nature of a scolding. And I know that his office is mostly made of stone.” Harry sighed. “It’s going to be such a temptation to just wrap him up in a stone cocoon and kill him that way.”

Draco became aware his mouth was open. He closed his eyes, and blinked. Then he said, “You don’t have to do that for me, you know. And I think a few months ago, you wouldn’t have,” he felt compelled to add.

Harry smiled at him over his shoulder. “You can count it as your influence, if you want. I realize now how stupid I was to think that running away would ever keep de Berenzan from pursuing me, but also—”

He paused. Draco waited patiently, his hand smoothing down the fine silk of the robes over Harry’s arm. Really, Harry should have been dressing like this all along; he had the money. On the other hand, Draco couldn’t deny his pleasure that Harry had accepted gifts like this from _him_.

“How stupid I was to think that I had to run away so nothing would ever happen to anyone else,” said Harry, and his voice firmed. “When he got desperate enough, he would have started questioning Ron and Hermione, and he probably wouldn’t have believed that they didn’t know anything. And if he got _really_ desperate, he could have figured it out the same way you did. All I was doing was acting stupid and putting off the inevitable. This confrontation has been coming since I found out what was written in my birth records.”

“I object to the insinuation that the Minister is as smart as I am.”

Harry laughed. “Well, he wouldn’t have found me so quickly, but he would have figured out I was using earth magic. And from there, since he already knew I was markless, how much time to track me back to the rain unicorns and Oatten and his people? He could have set up a trap there and waited for me.”

“I still object,” Draco murmured, taking a step forwards and burying his nose in the nape of Harry’s neck where he could inhale his scent. The mere thought that he might not have been chosen to go after Harry, that de Berenzan might have done it himself, made his hands shake. He hid that by gripping Harry’s hips.

“What do you object to?”

Harry rested his hand on one of Draco’s arms, and Draco started and responded. “I—have a fundamental objection to the idea of things being different than they are.”

Harry was quiet for long moments. Then he said, “I once swore I would never say I wished things were different. Because that would mean that I disliked having survived the war, and my parents died so I could live. But then I found out about not having a soulmate, and I started saying it all the time.”

Draco said nothing, only stroking up and down Harry’s flank. There would be a point to this, and it wouldn’t be to hurt him.

It was astonishing that he trusted _Harry Potter_ not to hurt him, but things were very different than they had once been.

“Now I think that there was probably always a means of making my life better, but I never took it.” Harry leaned back into his arms, and Draco grunted, a little surprised, but supported Harry’s weight without having to be asked. “You’re the one who taught me that I could take it.”

“You fought the Dark Lord—”

“You were the one who kept going after me and kept _on_ until I gave in,” said Harry, and turned his head back to smile up at Draco and show him how seriously he meant that. “And that gave me the courage to realize I could make other changes in my life.”

He straightened back up, smoothing down Draco’s hand himself and then meeting his eyes quietly and powerfully in the mirror. “And now look at us. Preparing to confront the political enemy who would be happy if we were _both_ dead.”

Draco lowered his head and sniffed at the back of Harry’s neck again. Then he stepped back and whispered, “And we’re going to defeat him.”

Harry’s smile was as beautiful and dangerous as a wildfire.

*

“Thank you for making the time to see us, Minister.”

Draco was the one who spoke those words. Harry had been marching stiffly through the Ministry since they walked into it, even knowing they had the power of the Wizengamot’s authorization behind them. And now his burning gaze focused on de Berenzan as if he really was going to wrap his office around him in a stone cocoon.

“Of course, Auror Malfoy.” de Berenzan had never looked more formal. He had his hands folded on the desk in front of him and wore dress robes with so much silver and gilt Draco wasn’t certain how he could move. “And Mr. Potter.”

From the sound of it, de Berenzan would have liked it if Harry had had a title like Auror, so he could pretend to be more respectful. Draco bit his lip to stop himself from smiling and nodded.

“You know what we’re here about?”

“I would have to be deaf and blind not to know that.”

A calmer reaction than Draco had expected, but then again, it wouldn’t be de Berenzan if he didn’t have some plan. Draco nodded and dug out the scroll the Wizengamot had given him, after debating most of yesterday afternoon. “Then know that the Wizengamot, with many members of the oldest families among them, has decided that they’re calling for a vote of no confidence in you. They have the ability to remove you from office. It’s up to you whether you’ll be dragged, or leave gracefully.”

For a moment, Draco couldn’t read the reaction on de Berenzan’s face. Of course he was striving for amusement, but whether it was genuine or not… “You say that as if an elected Minister can be removed for appointing an Auror to hunt down a fugitive.”

“The elected Minister only stays in power with the support of the Wizengamot, as you know,” Draco said. “The power that’s appointed and not elected. And I think attempted murder and actual murder might have something more to do with it than assigning me to Harry’s case.” He and Harry had discussed referring to each other formally in de Berenzan’s presence, but had decided there would be no point.

“What murder? You seem to both be standing here alive.”

“Murder of three children less than one year old, born without a soul-mark. All last year.”

Harry’s voice crackled and snapped with a sound like rocks grinding. Draco didn’t think it was his imagination that de Berenzan’s desk had started to vibrate a little. He reached out and put his hand on Harry’s shoulder, and Harry subsided with a sharp motion of his hand.

“Legal—”

“The Wizengamot didn’t think so. And if it had been discussed with them and set forth at any point, everyone would know about children without soul-marks and what’s usually done to them. Instead it was hidden as if it was a…shameful thing.”

de Berenzan shifted as if he would stand up. Draco was more than impressed how, with just a single level gaze, Harry communicated that would be a bad idea. The Minister subsided again, and coughed.

“I was doing what—I was told to do.”

Harry laughed. The desk trembled again, but this time Draco barely needed to press down before it stopped. “ _That’s_ your excuse? ‘I was following orders’? That makes it all right? Not even that you thought it was the right thing to do?”

“I never thought it was the right thing to do!”

“Then why do it?”

“Because!” said de Berenzan, and leaned forwards and began speaking quietly before Draco could laugh at him in scorn. “Only imagine how much panic the public would experience, if we couldn’t keep this quiet. Imagine how they would react when they found out that people were born without soul-marks, and soulmates aren’t a universal thing, as we’ve so often been told. And when they found out their hero didn’t have a soul…”

“Don’t tell me that you’re stupid enough to believe Harry doesn’t have a soul.” Draco wrapped an arm around Harry’s shoulders and tugged him a little backwards. de Berenzan actually seemed as if he might attack, he was so quiet and intense and crazed. Draco didn’t want Harry right in front of the desk if that happened.

“He doesn’t have _something_ ,” de Berenzan snapped. “Maybe he doesn’t have a soul that could match someone else’s perfectly. I don’t know exactly what soulmates mean. But I knew what I had to keep quiet.”

“Why not come to me? Why not tell me that? You know I would have cooperated with the Ministry. I wouldn’t want to be an outcast, either.”

“When have you ever done what the Ministry asked of you?” de Berenzan folded his arms and gave Harry the most spiteful glance Draco had ever seen. “Of course you would think you needed to tell people the truth for their own good, or to prevent discrimination against the soulless, or something like that. And you would have done it, and we would have had even worse panic on our hands.”

“Worse than you have now, Minister?”

For a moment, de Berenzan honestly seemed to have stopped breathing. Then he slumped with his head in his hands. “What are we going to do? The papers are saying that the public is losing trust in the Ministry fast, and…”

“You can do one thing that you should have done in the first place. Step back, and resign. Trust Harry. Trust the Wizengamot, who are tired of you, to pick a competent replacement. That’s the way to keep the wizarding world from decaying even faster.”

Draco thought de Berenzan hadn’t heard him at first. Then he said, “I don’t want to do that.”

“Then it’s not about protecting the people,” said Harry, and Draco wanted to stroke him for the scorn in his voice. Well, he wanted to stroke him in a specific _place_ for the scorn in his voice, but they were in public, which made it a little hard. “It’s about protecting yourself, and keeping yourself in power. Not very thrilling or sterling, Minister.”

“They’ll hate me.”

“They already do,” Draco said. “There are only a few who hate me because of that story about me and my soulmate you printed. There are more who are on Harry’s side and outraged at the slaughter of helpless babies.”

“If you only weren’t here…”

“But we are. Get out, Minister. You made an effort that you shouldn’t have made, and lost the war.”

Silence filled the office as thickly as the dust on some of the picture frames. de Berenzan sat with his gaze downcast, and Draco wondered if he was hearing the ticking of a clock marking off private hours, minutes, seconds. He set his hand on Harry’s shoulder. They might have done all they needed here, and—

Then de Berenzan unfolded himself and came up with his wand aimed straight at Harry’s heart.

Draco never even had the chance to do more than cry out in anger. The stone floor clapped open like a book, unfolding glittering pages of marble and obsidian, while another stone platform bore Draco and Harry up. de Berenzan, his desk, and his papers spilled into the gap towards the book’s “spine,” and then it slammed shut.

Draco blinked. The desk had been sheared in half, a huge wooden block of it sticking out over the top of the now still stone floor. The papers were either missing, inside the stone, or clipped as if by teeth, with no ragged edges.

de Berenzan was still alive, but he was trapped to the waist in the stone floor, and no matter how much he braced his hands on the newly arranged flat surface and tugged, he couldn’t get out. He stared in panic as Harry approached him. Draco followed. Even though there was no sign of de Berenzan’s wand, like hell was he letting Harry that close to the bastard alone.

“You have no idea how much self-control it took me,” Harry said softly, “to keep you from ending up like your desk.”

The Minister was staring at Harry with blank, glazed eyes. Draco was pretty sure he would be the same way if he was in the same predicament. He did let one hand rest on Harry’s back as Harry came up and knelt next to the crack in the floor.

“You’ve done enough,” Harry said. “You wanted to erase your mistakes instead of cope with them. I can understand the impulse. But instead of accepting that it wasn’t possible when you _saw_ it wasn’t possible, you kept on trying to cover them up.” He smiled, and de Berenzan flinched back from the smile. Draco half-closed his own eyes to keep the stirring in his groin under control. “You couldn’t do what I did, which was to accept and start atoning.”

“Nothing…nothing can make up for what you’re going to do to the wizarding world by releasing this knowledge.”

Harry shrugged. “Most people will be able to cope with the existence of the markless. Almost nobody did what _you_ did to keep the secret.”

Draco rubbed Harry’s shoulder blade with one hand, well-pleased. Harry was learning to think like a politician. He would have to be one more than ever after the takedown of de Berenzan. People would know he was involved in it and would want to talk to him.

And their days of hiding were done. They would make this transition in the open, honestly, in public.

“You will be horrible for the future of our world,” de Berenzan whispered, his head bowed in what looked like defeat. “If you only knew, if you _knew_ what I have fought against and protected us from…”

“Have you?” Draco didn’t believe it, he thought it was some desperate ploy to save his power, but they didn’t know all the secrets of the Ministry, either. “Tell us what you’ve done, then.”

And as he had thought would probably happen, de Berenzan sealed his lips tight over those last secrets. Whether he thought to use them to bargain his way out of this position or they didn’t exist, Draco didn’t know.

“Do we have to do anything else here?” Harry stood and dusted his hands off with brisk motions. Draco thought he was probably the only one to fully understand the depth of the disgust that that conveyed. “If not, I’d really prefer to get on with the next piece of business.” He looked at Draco expectantly.

They had nothing else planned for today, but Draco understood his burning desire to get out of here. He pressed Harry’s shoulder lightly, then turned to de Berenzan. “Even if we let you go, you wouldn’t find any allies. Do you understand that? The Wizengamot has agreed to your removal, in special session. There’s nothing here for you to grasp onto, nothing you can do to make yourself welcome now.”

de Berenzan stared up sullenly, clearly not believing it. Draco shrugged. There was honestly no helping some people.

“We’ll tell some of the Aurors about the Wizengamot’s orders and make sure that de Berenzan doesn’t cause any mischief until they can be fulfilled,” he told Harry. “But otherwise, I think this is done.”

Harry nodded with his head bowed. He was shivering. Draco wondered for a second if it was magical exhaustion, even though Harry had done greater feats of earth magic than this without seeming tired.

But then Harry turned his head, and Draco saw the quiver of his eyelashes, and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, taking him out into the corridor so that he wouldn’t show such weakness in front of a defeated enemy.

“I don’t want to do this,” Harry whispered as they stood alone. “I never wanted to do this. I never wanted to be politically important. I only did what I had to do in the war, and since then…”

“I know, I know,” Draco murmured to him. “You only did what they forced you into. But, Harry, this is the way things are, and at least you stood up for children who couldn’t save themselves. You did something good with this political power, instead of what de Berenzan did. A politician doesn’t _have_ to be corrupt and afraid in the way he was. He just happened to be.”

Harry listened with a few soft nods, but Draco didn’t think he was convinced yet. He led Harry further down the corridor and stood with his arms around him, holding him in warmth and protection and love until Harry stopped shivering.

Then he went to alert the Aurors, Harry falling back into a shadowed position behind him.

It wasn’t something Draco particularly liked, but it was what Harry had chosen. And he would honor Harry’s choice.

He had certainly done enough.


	34. Teaching

“I didn’t expect _this_.”

Draco looked up. Harry was sitting across the table from him, staring in silent shock at a letter that had come with the morning owl-post. Draco casually shifted himself around so he could see it. The outside had had nothing remarkable on it.

The rambling words and the scrawled writing made him want to shake his head and back away the instant he looked at it, but he forced himself to persevere. It seemed that whoever had written this wanted Harry to teach them earth magic. They also babbled on about what a great and sensitive hero he was, and how brave it was of him to live without a soulmate, but that was the gist of it.

“What do I do?”

Draco swallowed back a laugh when he saw that Harry had turned to _him_ for advice. “What do you mean, what do you do? You have to write back and decide whether you want to tutor this person or not.”

“Of _course_ I don’t!”

“Then tell them that,” Draco said, with a shrug, and returned to his eggs. Now that he knew for sure this wasn’t a political threat, he was more amused than anything. Harry was turning this into a bigger deal than it needed to be.

“How can I?”

“You pick up your quill, and you write the words. Make sure that you remember how to shape the letters so someone can read them, unlike the chicken scratch that you have there.” Draco pointed with his chin at the letter. It didn’t deserve any more polite gesture.

“Very _funny_.”

Draco would have started really teasing him then, but he took in the way Harry was clutching the letter, almost ripping it, and shook his head. “What’s bothering you so much? This is probably the first time someone wanted you to teach them earth magic, but the other sentiments aren’t new. And you told me that people used to write to you because they wanted to learn how to defeat Dark Lords or duel.”

“I know, but…” Harry stared down at the letter, then up at Draco with a ferocity that caught him by surprise. “Do you think I might have made other people discontent with their soulmates?”

“Does that letter say something about it?”

Nodding, Harry swallowed. Draco watched disapprovingly. He could at least have swallowed _food_ , instead of air, which Draco was afraid he had. “It says that she thought the man she was dating was her true love, because he shares her soul-mark, but now she’s afraid that she might love someone else, and be settling for him.”

“It’s not your fault if she does. Trust you,” Draco added, “to find new things to blame yourself for, once the Minister is out of power and you can’t blame yourself for not fighting him anymore.”

That at least wrenched Harry out of his martyrdom-trance. He jerked his head up and glared at Draco with what someone else might have mistaken as loathing. “You can’t even let me figure out if I _should_ be worried about this.”

Draco shrugged and ate the last of his eggs, then looked meaningfully at the ones on Harry’s plate. Harry started to shove the plate over to him, glaring all the while. Draco sighed, looked up at the ceiling to be a witness to this, and pushed Harry’s food back to him. “You’re always going to be an inspiration to people because of what they’ve seen you do, and also what they _think_ you can do. You can’t deny that. The only thing you can do is refuse to let them control your life.”

“I could give them good advice, too.”

“And do you think good advice always works out?” Draco demanded. “No. Then they would blame you more than ever.”

“But if I’ve made some people doubt their true love—”

“I sincerely doubt your friends will suddenly leave their spouses because there might be the faintest chance that their soul-marks didn’t tell them the person best-suited to them,” Draco snapped. “And anyone who can leave someone else they’ve built a life with just because you found me was mentally deficient in the first place.”

“ _Draco._ Don’t call them that.”

“Now you’re demanding that I lie?”

Harry put his hand over his eyes. But at least he was sitting there and appeared to be thinking, instead of simply reacting. Draco stood up and fetched himself some more eggs, ready to snap again if Harry tried to whine and inveigle his sympathy.

Draco had time to make the eggs, sit down, and eat several of them before Harry looked up with a deep sigh and muttered, “I’m going to get more letters like this.”

“How could you stop them?”

A twitch of Harry’s shoulders was the only sign he’d heard. “And I have to figure out some way to respond to them that doesn’t leave me feeling guilty and useless at the same time. That helps no one.”

“How did you figure _that_ out?”

“You.” Draco had thought Harry would go on pretending to ignore him, and so it was a shock, though hardly an unpleasant one, when Harry’s eyes focused directly on him. “Because you were the one who gave me permission to do all sorts of things, like live without a soul-mark in the wizarding world and fall in love with someone who had a different soulmate. I know it sounds like I take a long time to learn those lessons, but— _thank you_.”

“You’re welcome,” said Draco temperately. It was true that Harry’s little fit hadn’t lasted as long this time, but Draco was going to save his deeper emotions for when he saw Harry take action.

Like he did the next second, casually rippling the stone floor of Draco’s house to bring him quills and parchment on floating curls of rock. Then he sat down to begin scribbling an answer, his face so full of determination it seemed to spill out and lie on the table between them.

Draco cleaned up breakfast, putting a hand on Harry’s shoulder whenever he passed him. Harry never looked up, but his shoulder always pressed firmly into Draco’s hand, and then relaxed as Draco let him go.

_I am content._

*

The Floo flared late that evening, and Harry looked up with wary eyes. Draco frowned with him. There were few people who should be Flooing him at this hour, and Harry’s friends would have sent an owl, or a Patronus, or simply come over and banged on the door.

“Is it okay?”

Draco raised his hand in a silent order to wait, and then went to the Floo. He arranged his face in a pleasant expression as he made out the dark purple robes of a Wizengamot member, and bowed his head. “What can I do for you, Madam…?”

“Zelbrin.” The woman was one he didn’t know, but she had the name of a minor, respected family, the sort who worked for the Ministry all their live and got a small plaque at retirement. She also had shrewd dark eyes, and at the moment, that mattered to Draco more than her name. “Esmeralda Zelbrin. Do you have a few minutes to talk about the selection of the new Minister, Auror Malfoy?”

“You’ve made your decision, then?” Draco kept his voice pleasant, too.

“We have. Yvonne Vance.”

Draco blinked a little. Vance was a member of a family that had worked for the Ministry practically forever, and she had had relatives killed in both wars, from what Draco could remember. He didn’t know her personally, but he knew she had been an Auror, had worked desk jobs in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and now held some position in administration whose title he couldn’t remember.

“Why her?”

“She is inoffensive, accustomed to the workings of power, and won’t seek to change anything major, but guide the Ministry into a new era of peace and prosperity.”

_She won’t challenge or change anything,_ Draco thought, and knew he had interpreted matters correctly. But that was no reason to disapprove of the Wizengamot’s choice. If nothing else, perhaps Harry could have some peace now, and lose whatever guilt he still had that the Ministry had no head now thanks to him. “She sounds a respectable choice.”

“Good.” Madam Zelbrin still hesitated, and a second later, Draco knew why.

“You want to talk to Harry.”

“If Mr. Potter is available, yes.”

Draco glanced at Harry, tilting his head in silent invitation, and reminder that Harry didn’t have to do this if he didn’t _want_ to. Harry clenched his jaw, shrugged a little, and walked over to bend down in front of the Floo.

“Yes?”

“You’ve worked with Assistant Undersecretary Vance in the past, I’m told. What do you think of her?”

Harry’s nostrils flared, and Draco put a hand on the small of his back, where it wouldn’t be visible to Madam Zelbrin. Harry tilted his head in silent acknowledgement, although he kept his eyes fixed on the woman’s face in the flames. “I think she’s a fine choice.”

“No more than that?”

“What do you want me to say?” Harry’s voice was low and cold, but he was in control; not even the stones in the floor under his feet trembled. “I wanted Minister de Berenzan to act like a human being with the normal range of care for helpless infants, and _that_ didn’t happen. I don’t think Vance is going to kill people like me. I don’t know her very well, outside those few training sessions I took with her years ago. What would satisfy you?”

Madam Zelbrin blinked and raised a hand to touch one of the large garnets hanging around her neck. Draco grinned viciously, and didn’t care if she saw him do it. Harry was pushing back against the people who demanded impossible things of him, including approving a Minister who, as he had said, he didn’t know that well and shouldn’t _have_ to approve. If Madam Zelbrin tried anything else, including scolding Harry for something that should have been _her_ job, she would get a nasty surprise.

Fortunately, she didn’t. She did clear her throat a time or two, and act as if she thought that would make Harry speak, but when it didn’t, she nodded and said, “Our choice of Vance is confirmed, then. You’re welcome to come hear her first speech.”

“Thank you,” Harry said, with a sweetness more cutting than any harshness. Draco bit back his chuckle as Madam Zelbrin hastily shut the Floo.

“You were magnificent,” Draco breathed against Harry’s neck, and reached out to skim his knuckles down his nape. “Much more effective when you _don’t_ lose your temper than when you do.”

“I know. But losing my temper is more satisfying, in some ways.” Harry craned his head back, nuzzling at the side of Draco’s throat as if he knew how mad that drove him. Draco kissed his fingertips. “Then they at least _know_ I’m upset with them.”

“But leaving them in uncertainty terrifies them more.”

Harry was silent for a second, breathing in such a way that Draco thought he might disagree. Then he laughed softly. “There’s that.”

Draco pulled him gently out of the room. He doubted Harry wanted to stand here discussing politics, and since Vance’s acceptance speech wouldn’t be for a few days, they had little to say to each other anyway. They might as well put their time to good use.

*

“Malfoy? Malfoy! I want to talk to you!”

Draco opened his eyes and shook his head a little. The sound wasn’t as clear as it would have been coming from the Floo, which must mean someone was standing outside his window and shouting at him. Good thing they hadn’t tried to come too close, Draco thought as he sat up, stretched, and threw a shirt and robes on, or the wards would have roasted them.

He followed the sound of the clamoring voice in a leisurely way towards the window that overlooked the front steps, and found himself staring when he looked out.

Rose Sheldon stood there, her face flushed and her hands trembling. Draco wondered in a detached sort of way if she was out of her potion again, or if she had forgotten to cast a Warming Charm against the chill of the morning.

“Malf—” Sheldon finally looked up and saw him. Her face flushed a brighter pink, and she stepped back and shook her head. “There you are.”

“Yes, here I am,” Draco said, and folded his arms on the windowsill, and said nothing else. Sheldon could speak her own piece about why she’d bothered to come here.

Sheldon acted for a short time as if _she_ was going to pull the silent trick with _him_ , but she finally gave in and drew her wand. Draco immediately moved to get the wards ready to exclude her if he had to. He certainly wasn’t about to wait for her to Stun him.

“No, I’m sorry. I was just—going to make my voice louder.”

“You don’t need to do that.” Draco leaned harder on the windowsill. “I can hear you from here.”

Sheldon closed her eyes and stood in silence for a time. Then she said, “I didn’t know you were my soulmate.”

“I knew you weren’t mine.”

For a moment, she stared up at him, and Draco, although he couldn’t see it from here, knew the exact way her eyelashes would be trembling in confusion. He had made quite a study of her before deciding there was no way of living with her, after all. “W-what do you mean? Of course we are. The marks we bear—”

“Forgive me. Perhaps I would have made a clearer impression if I said that I would not _allow_ you to be mine.”

Sheldon swallowed. “I—see.”

“From the sound of it, you don’t. Even before I met Harry, I had rejected the notion that soulmates pointed to a romantic destiny. I did that by rejecting you.”

Sheldon shivered a little. “And I suppose I know what made me so objectionable to you.”

“Yes. Your _habit_.”

Sheldon looked away. “You never heard about why I fell into that habit.”

“Oh, yes, I did.” Draco moved his hand when she looked back at him. “It was one night when you’d stayed late at the Ministry because you hoped I might brew you another dose of your weakness. I asked, and you told me, and then I _Obliviated_ you so that you wouldn’t be uncomfortable around me and stop giving me information. It was a story that didn’t surprise me, you know. A story like anyone else’s. You wanted to do it, you started to do it, you found yourself unable to escape. Why would you think that something like that would impress me?”

“I—not impress you. Explain.” Sheldon’s voice was so low that Draco could barely hear her, and he had never heard her sound _like_ that, either. She might have been Harry whispering, almost. “I didn’t know—I never saw your mark. Or you showed it to me and I don’t remember it because of your spell.”

“The latter.”

Sheldon closed her eyes.

“You weren’t impressed with me, either,” Draco added, and shook his head a little as he remembered Sheldon’s reaction. “More horrified than anything.”

“That doesn’t mean you have the right to—deprive me of my soulmate.”

“And you don’t have the right to pull me back when I’ve already chosen another path.” Draco heard Harry stirring behind him, and sighed. He had hoped Harry would either stay asleep or pretend to be, so that they wouldn’t have to deal with this. But he hoped even more that he could make Sheldon understand why this would foolish to pursue. He fixed his eyes on her. “I won’t come back.”

“Not—to make another go of it? Is it because of Potter?”

“It’s because of _you_. It always was. And I’ve already given you chances to make a go of it. If you’d ever shown a sign of wanting to break your addiction and compensate for your weakness, then I would have accepted you. But you didn’t. I’ve made my choice. Go make your own, if you _can_ make it when you’ve avoided it so far.”

Sheldon stood there a second longer, and then dropped her head. She paced away looking like a broken-kneed Abraxan Draco had once seen at Gregory’s house. He grunted a little, and leaned back into Harry as he wrapped his arms around Draco’s waist.

“Did you have to do that?” Harry whispered into his ear as they watched Sheldon Apparate. “Did you have to be that cruel?”

“Yes. To get her to leave us alone.”

Harry sighed a little, and then nodded. “Yes, I know.”

“You’re not angry at me?” Harry leaned his head on Draco’s back in response, and exhaled against his ear. From the feel of it, he was half-naked. Draco was glad that Sheldon had left before she could see this.

“No. I know what you did to her already, and I forgave you for it. It would be ridiculous to hold that against you, especially when this ended your exploitation of her.”

Draco bristled a little, but Sheldon truly wasn’t worth getting angry about. He reached his hand back and stroked Harry’s hair. “You would never have given up as easily as she did, would you? If you had a soul-mark and found out that I was yours, even if we still had all our past history between us and nothing else, you would have sought me out.”

There was a baffled silence from behind him, and then Harry said carefully, “Well, of course I would want to see if you would accept me. But I don’t have a soul-mark.”

“No. I was only comparing your strength to hers.” Draco twisted around in his hold and leaned his forehead against Harry’s. “And finding her wanting.”

Harry looked torn for a second, as if he thought that Draco was being cruel again, and then he smiled and looped his hands under Draco’s elbows and kissed him, seeming to accept the comparison as the compliment it was meant for. Draco held Harry’s cheeks in his hands as he kissed back, fiercely glad that Sheldon had been so weak.

_Otherwise, I wouldn’t have Harry._


	35. Passion and Devotion

“…And we know that we must move all our people, not only the ones who are born with conventional soul-marks, into the world as we have always understood it.”

There was restrained applause for the new Minister Vance once she had finished speaking. Draco, standing next to Harry in the front row of spectators in the Wizengamot’s courtroom, nodded. He suspected this Minister would be restrained in everything she did. She wouldn’t inspire the kind of wild devotion that Minister de Berenzan supposedly had.

On the other hand, there were better things than wild devotion, especially for a Minister people like him and Harry had to live with. Respect, for instance. And Draco knew Vance would get that without a problem.

“Draco?”

Draco turned his head. There was a tense note in Harry’s voice that he hated hearing. No one should be able to inspire that except for him. “What is it?” he murmured, and then saw the way that a woman with a young face and bright eyes was staring worshipfully at Harry.

“Get me out of here before someone else comes up to congratulate me on being so _brave_ and showing them how to live without a soul-mark.”

Draco laughed and started guiding Harry to the end of the row. “Why don’t you just open the ground beneath us and drop us into it? Your earth magic can get us out of here faster than Apparition, with all these spells around.”

“You _want_ them to start panicking that we’ve actually disappeared from in front of them?”

“It was a suggestion, Harry, nothing more.”

Harry paused and slowly turned his head. Draco looked back, wondering if the hero-worshipping young woman was following them, but it didn't seem so. He opened his mouth to suggest that Harry _might_ be a little paranoid.

Then he had to close it and spit dirt, because Harry dropped straight down into the flagstones beneath their feet.

Draco had forgotten how odd it was to travel this way, with tunnels splitting and cracking like lightning through the dirt in front of and behind them, and his body heavy, almost swimming sometimes, other times drifting as if he was in the lightest of air. He glared at Harry's heels, and endured the dragging, and only opened his mouth haughtily again once they leaped up through the stone of his floor, inside the wards.

"It was just a suggestion, yeah. But you made it."

That effectively stole half the defense Draco would have mustered. He scowled in what he knew was a petulant way and wandered over to lean against the wall, watching as Harry shook scraps of stone from underneath his fingernails and dirt from his eyelashes. He was grinning, exhilarated, and Draco smiled before he spoke.

"Do you think people have figured out how dangerous you are yet, if you can cross under wards that they've set up?"

Harry's face abruptly crumpled into something different, and he turned his back so suddenly Draco had no chance to prepare for it. Draco blinked into the silence, and said, "Well, I'm just saying."

"I was only thinking about how wonderful it is that I can do this. Not how dangerous it made me."

Draco sighed. "Are we back to the stage where you punish yourself for even _thinking_ of hurting someone else, then? Or are you upset because you never thought of the implications until I said it?"

"I'm upset because someone else could think of it and decide that means I'm dangerous again."

Astonished, Draco stepped over and stared at him. Harry was leaning on the windowsill that looked out over the front steps, the window Draco had dismissed Sheldon from, and even though he had no tears on his cheeks, his eyes were shut as tightly as if he wanted to hold them back. Draco put his arms carefully around Harry. "No, you heard Minister Vance. She's committed to saving people without soul-marks. Not harming them."

“In general. The way people have turned against me in the past…”

Draco leaned against Harry’s side. Harry’s breathing calmed down after a second, and he nodded. “Yes, that was probably stupid of me to do. Sorry, Draco.” He straightened up and brushed at his robes.

“Don’t simply say that it’s stupid,” Draco said, not moving his arm from around Harry’s shoulders or his side from Harry’s. “Argue with me, tell me what you’re thinking, or walk away and sulk for a while if that’s what you need to do. But don’t hide it until you have a panic attack, and _don’t_ call yourself stupid.”

Harry muttered, “I was calling _it_ stupid.” He grinned a little when Draco looked sideways at him. “Sorry. I do still tend to assume that things can’t last and they’re going to go back to the way things used to be, because…”

“I can’t continue that sentence in my head. You’re going to have to tell me.”

“It’s changed so much,” Harry muttered. “A month ago I thought I was going to be a fugitive from the wizarding world for the rest of my life and I would never dare contact my friends again. Then I realized that I couldn’t leave without someone coming after me, and that person turned out to be you. And now de Berenzan’s out of office, and everyone knows about the—markless people like me, and there’s not so much danger after all.”

“You should have come to me the moment you found out you were born without a soul-mark,” Draco couldn’t help saying, smugly, as he tightened his arms around Harry. “I would have been able to help you, you know. At least, I would have come up with a better political plan than you managed to invent.”

“I never wanted to go into politics. The only thought I had was to get away, and live some kind of life, and not torment my friends.”

“But now you’re in politics, all the time, and you can’t get out of it. You know they’re probably going to come talk to you about the best way to treat the markless?”

Harry squirmed a little to the side—he had to squirm, since Draco didn’t plan on letting him go—and silently raised a piece of creamy parchment with the Ministry seal on it. Draco blinked in surprise and took it from him, opening it.

The letter inside had Minister Vance’s name at the bottom of it, but the haughty writing—Draco could just _tell_ —was ninety percent some undersecretary who thought the Minister too busy to bother with such things. It suggested that Harry Potter would be welcome to attend a meeting of Ministry and Wizengamot officials on the next Monday at three-o’clock to discuss strategies on “integrating the markless with their soul-marked peers.”

Draco ran his finger over the open edge of the envelope, daring a cut from the paper, and finally said, “You never told me you got this.”

“I was trying to decide whether or not I wanted to go,” Harry muttered into Draco’s shirt, his head turning as if he wanted to hide from anger. “They—make it sound like it’s all _their_ business. Like they did us a _favor_ by starting to acknowledge we existed, instead of having to be forced into it.”

Draco looped an arm harder around his shoulders. “That’s the way the Ministry and politicians are going to behave, you know. They can’t admit they made a mistake for too long, it would weaken their ability to pretend they’re invincibly right. They have to say they did it and then go on and talk as if they knew it all along, as quickly as possible.”

Harry snorted weakly and lifted his head. “You’re right about one thing.”

“I’m right about most things,” Draco said automatically. “Which one are you talking about this time?”

“That you’ve come up with a better political plan than I have.” Harry rubbed his hand along the back of Draco’s neck and stared at him intensely. “That you’ve come up with a political plan at _all_ puts you ahead of me. You understand politics. You want to play the game. You’re the one who lets me understand and make sense of things that just seem to be—nonsense to me.”

Draco dipped his head until his chin rested on top of Harry’s head. His voice was gentle, a lot gentler than he’d planned to have it come out. “You realize I can’t take your place in these battles? I can help you, I’ll try to do that all I can, but you’re the one who has to be at the meetings and lending your voice to the debates about the markless.”

“I don’t want you to take my place. Just help me.”

Draco tightened his arms until he thought he actually heard a breathless squeak from Harry. “ _That_ I’ll do, and gladly.”

*

“Mr. Potter, what do you think about calling in the soulless you told us about, the ones who live with the rain unicorns, and asking them to give us advice about integrating the soulless into our society?”

_I think you should stop calling people soulless. If only because it might make Harry do it again, and that would be hard to get him away from._

But Draco didn’t say that aloud, since he wouldn’t have received any sympathy anyway. He sat and stewed in his chair instead, and Minister Vance leaned forwards from the table at which was she was sitting with several Wizengamot members and looked over her glasses in Harry’s general direction. They were in a small sitting room, but it felt bigger than that.

Draco could feel Harry’s tension in the moment before he shook his head with a small smile and murmured, “I think that they won’t have any interest in integrating into our society, Minister Vance. They would have tried before now if they wanted to. As it is, they’d prefer to live separately from wizards and take advice from the rain unicorns. I’m grateful to them for letting me know I could do magic without a wand. That’s not the same thing as thinking they would make good test subjects _or_ good advice-givers.”

 _See, you can sound neutral when you want to._ Along the side between their chairs, where it wouldn’t be seen, Draco tapped a finger silently on Harry’s ribs. A slight crinkle at the corner of Harry’s eyes was the only way to know he smiled.

All sorts of things Harry could do, including being political, and he hadn’t wanted to before. But honestly, Draco thought part of that was just lack of confidence, maybe lack of support. He would never suffer the latter again, and Draco would harass him out of any of the former.

_Things work out._

“You don’t think they would want to teach earth magic to other soulless wizards?”

“Please do call us markless, Minister. The other way has perpetuated stereotypes for too long.”

Vance blinked and adjusted her glasses. “Of course. Markless, then.”

“I think that they only directed me to the rain unicorn who taught me magic in the first place because I sought them out. They wouldn’t want to establish these connections with people they would perceive as unwilling to leave the wizarding world for any reason. _Maybe_ they could speak to other people without soul-marks, but they’d need some sign all the communication wasn’t one-way.”

“I never said all the communication had to be one-way…”

“I know you haven’t, Minister Vance. I’m only saying that it’s possible some of the markless wizards might be lazy or not want to go to them, and would interpret it that way. Just thinking aloud, thinking ahead.”

 _He even knows the right words to say,_ Draco thought, unable to stop himself from smiling because of the hard ache of pride in the center of his chest. _And I certainly never taught him those._

“But you don’t need to worry about that,” said one of the Wizengamot members who was sitting on the other side of Minister Vance. “After all, even if there are some rude people who think that these—markless—wizards who work with rain unicorns need to come to them, it’s not as if _you_ have to be involved.”

Harry stared at the man with his mouth slightly open. Draco hid a frown that said Harry’s mouth should only ever open like that in the privacy of their bedroom.

“But _of course_ I’m going to be involved,” Harry blurted. “Of course I will. How could I not, when I’m the one who told you about Oatten’s people in the first place?”

“But you don’t have to be. Why would you when you don’t have to be?”

Draco thought someone touched the young idiot’s knee under the table, which was preferable to a giant stone hand reaching up from under it to tickle him, which Harry’s expression was leaning towards. Draco nudged him again, with more intent this time, and Harry shook his head a little and answered calmly.

“I want to be. It’s a matter of what I feel is right, more than obligation and duty.”

The conversation moved in other directions after that, ones that said the Wizengamot members and the new Minister were beginning to understand the limits of Harry’s abilities and patience. Draco leaned back and let his mind wander. He had already been promised his job back, and many of the Aurors who had tracked him for de Berenzan had come up and personally apologized. As Draco had suspected, de Berenzan had lied to them about the crime Draco had supposedly committed.

And as for the ones who hadn’t apologized…

Draco smiled. The power dynamic had shifted, and they didn’t realize it. It was more than Draco being vindicated when he had been a fugitive, too.

With another slight, satisfied glance in Harry’s direction, Draco returned to contemplation of the future.

*

“That _feels_ so good.”

“It should,” Draco said, gasping a little as he moved inside Harry and felt Harry arch his hips up in response. “Since I’m the one inside you—doing it—to you.” His voice stumbled and blurred, to his humiliation, but Harry felt pretty bloody good himself.

Harry reached up, and touched Draco’s hair gently. Then his hand clenched, and he ripped through it, messing it up.

It never failed to make Draco come, and Draco did it swearing this time. He hadn’t _planned_ to. Harry laughed triumphantly beneath him, lifting up as if his own swollen cock was going to make Draco feel worse.

Draco worked one hand free of its clutch on Harry’s shoulder and reached down to stroke him.

Harry came with a grunt and a sigh, slicking Draco’s hand and chest and everything else that he didn’t get out of the way fast enough. Draco didn’t mind, though, or he would have moved faster. He lay back down, tangled around Harry, and closed his eyes. Normally he was fast with the Cleaning Charms, but not like this.

“Let me try something?”

Draco opened one eye. “I’m too tired right now for any ‘trying’ to be effective.”

Harry laughed. “I didn’t mean that. I meant _this_.” He concentrated, and from somewhere—maybe the walls, which would make sense, Draco thought—a fine rain of stone dust blew across them. Draco gasped as it seemed to take most of his sticky, dirty feeling and fly away with it.

“Better than I could manage before,” Harry remarked breathlessly in the pause that followed.

“You had _better_ be breathless because of what I did with you and not because of magical exhaustion,” Draco snapped.

Harry rolled over to face him. His smile was full from one end to the other. “Oh, yes,” he said, and kissed Draco. “Thank you for saving me, Draco. And for being angry when I deserved it.”

Draco kissed him back, sliding his tongue delicately along Harry’s bottom lip. “I hope I rouse more emotions in you than anger?”

“Of course you do,” Harry murmured, already sliding closer to sleep from the sound of his voice, as if he had already said the most important thing. “But you did that when I would have given up. I’m alive and in love because of you. That’s a lot.”

Draco closed his eyes and listened to Harry’s breathing. His hand rested on Harry’s chest, and he felt the rise and fall of Harry’s heartbeat, his lungs, his life. The life that might have been destroyed or cast aside forever because of idiotic prejudices against people born without soul-marks.

_Instead, I was smarter than everyone and saved the day._

Draco grinned, then let his smile fade again as he listened once more to Harry’s breathing.

_And won the only prize that really matters._

He ended up falling asleep behind Harry, his arm draped over Harry’s shoulder so that the palm of his hand crossed Harry’s heart.

_We won._

**The End.**


End file.
